The Reluctant Bride
by Lady3jane
Summary: POSTING EVERY FRIDAY. A romance, set after the war has been won. Seven years have passed and, along with everyone else, Arya, Daenerys and Sansa must build a new future. Marriage will be part of that, whether they want it or not. This is a story about how they each find love and sisterhood after the war. Arya is first as 'The Reluctant Bride', but their stories are intertwined.
1. Chapter 1

**The Reluctant Bride**

is set after the war for Westeros has been won. Seven years have passed and there are many things the characters don't know about each other's lives during that time. Some things will be revealed to them and to us, but I'm not going to try and finish GRRM's story, so you'll just have to accept that all things will never be known until he finishes the books. There is not intended to be any divergence from the books as so far written, but after that…who knows? As always, he owns everything and I'm playing with his world for my own entertainment and hopefully yours too.

**Chapter 1 –**

**The war is won. Now we fight for peace.**

_It was coming, as sure as winter would come again. _

_She smelled it the air and felt in her bones. _

_Something was coming, something that would change everything._

_It was just out of reach, just out of knowing, but it would happen soon and nothing would be the same again._

Arya woke with a start. The same dream again, the same dream every night since she had returned to Westeros. She rolled over and, closing her mind to it, fell back asleep.

-o-

Queen Daenerys and the Ladies Arya and Sansa sat in the King's solar, awaiting his arrival, or at least The Queen and Sansa, sat, while Arya lounged, with one leg draped over the arm of a chair.

Daenerys worked at the King's desk, busy with correspondence and instructions to be sent to Meereen. She looked up from her papers as Arya blew out a long, loud, disgruntled sigh.

As she regarded them both, Daenerys thought that two sisters could not be more different. Arya was restless and bored, filled with an angry energy. She gave the impression of being a wild animal, corralled against her will. Everything about the youngest Stark girl strained against the constraints of convention; from her short hair and men's attire to her skill with a sword and her refusal to accept her brother's bidding. Just as the Direwolves came and went as they pleased, Daenerys expected Arya to simply disappear one night, as suddenly as she had arrived.

It was Daenerys' turn to sigh. She wished with all her heart to have family surround her and, to her mind, these siblings had been apart too long already. It seemed inevitable that Arya would leave again if she could not reach an accord with Jon and soon.

In complete contrast to her sister's relentless fidgeting, Lady Sansa sat serenely with her embroidery in her lap, poised, still and calm. The deft movements of her fingers as she worked were the only proof that she was not an exquisitely painted doll, designed to make men weak with desire and women green with jealousy. Daenerys suspected Sansa hid much and her good-sister certainly shared nothing. Sansa had hinted at dark events in her past during a few, rare moments when she had inadvertently dropped her guard, but Sansa steadfastly refused to be drawn or elaborate on her trials during the seven years war.

In her own way, Sansa was even more of a mystery than Arya. Although the embellishment of the man's tunic in her hands appeared to be a labour of love, Sansa kept the design carefully hidden and, despite Daenerys' gentle prodding, would not admit to whom the garment belonged. Worse, Sansa had caught Aegon's eye and Daenerys doubted anyone had ever said 'no' to her nephew in his entire life, especially not the ladies. 'Twould be awkward for them all if Aegon was to hear if for the first time from Sansa.

Daenerys was determined to aid these two, very different ladies in any way she could and, most importantly to guide them through the perils of matrimony. As she knew to her cost, a poor marriage brought untold misery. She was determined that would not happen to her Good-sisters.

As if to highlight the differences in their character, Arya muttered "bored, bored, bored" under her breath. Without looking up from her needlework, Sansa chided mildly, "It would do you no harm to learn a useful skill sister."

Arya huffed and replied sarcastically, "I have plenty of skills _sister_, just none that _you_ would appreciate." To prove her point, she drew Needle from her tall boot and sent the small sword flying across the room, with sunlight glinting off the steel. In an instant, the point was embedded in the wood around the door with a powerful 'Thwack". Needle was not designed to be a throwing blade, but it was so familiar to Arya's hand, she could judge its weight and balance perfectly and land it exactly where she wanted – at a tall man's eye level.

Unfortunately that was the precise moment Jon entered his solar. The sword was still quivering in the wood as he took his first step into the room. He immediately stopped dead in his tracks, startled by the vibrating blade beside his head. Grinding his teeth, he pulled it angrily from the wall.

"When I gave you this, I never intended it to be the instrument of my death Arya!"

"Pah! You exaggerate like an old woman. At worst, you would have lost an eye." Arya quipped.

Jon was obviously in no mood for japes as he stomped over and presented Needle to her, pommel first, accompanied by a deathly stare.

"Daenerys, Sansa, would you care to take leave of us. Lady Arya and I have some pressing business to discuss."

Arya groaned loudly as Sansa stood up and gave King Jon a deep curtsey, which he acknowledged with a curt nod. Lady Sansa, with her perfect manners, carefully gathered up her needle work before retreating towards the door.

Daenerys was in less of a hurry to leave, closing her ledger and re-arranging the inks on Jon's desk. He strolled over and began helping her tidy away her papers. Arya did not miss the way Jon's hand lingered as it brushed against his Queen's, or the beguiling smile on Daenerys' lips as she looked up at him through her eyelashes.

Arya steeled herself for what was to come. 'Twould be the same lecture she had already had to endure twice since she had arrived in King's Landing.

Jon watched Daenerys leave, his eyes never straying from her petite, perfect form until she was gone from his solar and the door was closed firmly behind her. Only then did he fold his arms across his chest, purse his lips and fix Arya with his most determined stare.

"Will you at least consent to meet him?"

His sister remained impassive, turning her head away and settling her gaze on the far horizon.

Exasperated by her lack of response, Jon strode over and placed his hands gently, but firmly, on her slim shoulders. His youngest sister stiffened under his touch but she did not speak and he did not remove his hands.

Ghost stretched and rose gracefully from the patch of sunlight on the floor of the solar where he and his sister had been lying. Ghost padded silently to Jon's side. Nymeria followed her brother; humans and Direwolves reunited after seven years of war.

The four of them looked out across the broken land. On a clear day you could see as far as Harrenhal, but this was not such a day. Smoke still rose from too many places; dulling the sky and making the spring sunshine seem weaker than it already was.

Scorched fields assaulted their eyes whichever way they looked. Far below Jon's solar the assembled armies of men looked insignificant, but they were not. The realm depended upon these men to win the peace as surely as it had depended upon them to win the war. But these men needed to go home. They had been soldiers too long and they must become farmers, husbands and fathers again if the peace was going to last and the realm survive.

Too many years of war and a hard winter had left half of Westeros starving while the other half drowned in blood. The seven years war had set brother against brother, father against son and now it must end. Jon would see it ended.

The war was won. The price paid by them all had been far too high, yet Jon feared that the cost of keeping the peace might be higher still. Battles of another kind had still to be fought and won. Jon knew the greatest challenge that lay ahead was feeding his people and ensuring the fragile peace held. Below him were too many warriors with no wars to fight; too many men, bearing too many grudges, too keen to settle old scores.

If the rule of Three Headed Dragon was to last there must be strong lords to hold these lands in the Dragon's name. Lords like Weyland the Smith, whom Jon had so recently raised from bastard knight to Lord Baratheon.

Of all Jon's Captains, none had fraught as tirelessly by his side or commanded as much respect as The Smith. It was he who had brought the Bad Company to his cause. To his surprise, Jon found himself smiling at the memory, for that had been a turning point in his war. The 'Brothers Without Banners' as they had been then, could hardly continue with that name once they had rallied to Jon's own banner. Comradely rivals to Aegon's own Golden Company, the name that had been first used in jest, had stuck. The brave men of Bad Company had fought with him, some had died for him and their leader had become his closest friend.

And whom could a King trust if not his friends? Already Jon was wary of the politics of rule and he needed friends around him more than ever. He needed advisers he could trust, who would not offer platitudes and lies when the truth was necessary and unwelcome.

How many could he truly count as 'friend?' _Rob_. Jon had not thought on him and what might have been for many years now, but having Arya returned, with Sansa and Bran close, he allowed his thoughts to drift back to the brother who might have been King now in his stead. What would Lady Catelyn have said if she could see the bastard sat on the Iron Throne instead of her first born son? The thought might once have amused Jon, but too many were lost for it to hold any satisfaction now. Rob had been his boyhood friend, but would they have remained so as men? His brother had always been first to Jon's poor second, but Rob was long gone and Jon still endured; not only King of The North, but a King of all Westeros.

At The Wall he had found friendship with Sam; so shrewd and steadfast, but in truth they were too different in temperament and nature to be always at ease in each other's company.

And then there was Aegon. Thinking of him caused another, deeper, sigh to escape Jon's lips. Aegon was his brother, his King, as Jon was also to him, but they were rivals too. Their rivalry was unspoken, but it existed none the less and made for a wary friendship.

With Weyland, there was an affinity he could not define, something they both shared, that Jon found lacking in the others. Perhaps it was the fact that they both carried the stain of being born bastards; raised to expect little, but driven by _something _to achieve so much. It was Weyland's company he would seek around campfires or to pass the time in easy conversation or companionable silence on many long marches.

Now his friend and greatest Captain asked but one thing as reward for his toils - the hand of Lady Arya Stark in marriage.

Jon groaned as he looked down at his sister, still little more than a girl, but on whose slender shoulders so much depended.

"Look at what surrounds us" Jon pleaded. "We need this peace Arya; I need it, you need it, the realm needs it. We're exhausted – all of us and I need you to bind this lord to me. We must have no more rebellions."

Although Jon counted the new Lord Baratheon as his closest friend, he could not allow the possibility of another Baratheon challenge to Targaryen rule. The tried and tested way to prevent such threats was by arranging marriages between the great Houses of Westeros. Jon would wed his sister to a Baratheon and bind that House to his. The sons of Weyland and, if she would have him, Arya would squire in his halls and their daughters would marry Targaryen sons. Their Houses would be at peace and war would come no more to Westeros.

But Arya truly frustrated him. The Gods only knew what she had been through – what they had all been through, but they _had_ to let go of this war, pick up the threads of their lives and believe in the promise of a peaceful future. Marriage and heirs had to be in all of their futures.

"I need this Arya and you're not making it easy for me." Jon said gently. "If your favour lies elsewhere, then he may be persuaded to step aside, but you need to tell me if there is another."

"You know there is no other" his sister replied tightly.

"If there is truly no other then at least meet with him." Jon cajoled, his patience beginning to wear thin "As your brother, I will not force you into marriage with him..."

Arya snorted. Nymeria growled. Ghost remained stoically silent.

Jon chose to ignore them all and continue

"…but as your King, _I will_ have you wed one of my Lords."

Jon had no doubt his sister was scornful of the entire proposition. He would tread carefully, but he would not relent. This was not a request. It was _an_ _order_ and they both knew it.

Arya finally looked up at him with the same steely grey eyes he saw every time he looked in the mirror. Jon knew that was the heart of his problem – they were too alike, both too damn stubborn for their own good. But stubborn had sustained him when all else had failed. Stubborn had won him the war and stubborn would win him the peace and this argument with his damn sister.

"I want no husband."

"I didn't ask what you _wanted_ Arya!" Jon snapped, instantly regretting raising his voice, but she was being so bloody uncooperative. He hadn't had half, nay, not even a tenth as much trouble with Sansa. He resolved to stay calm, took a deep breath and continued, "Do you think I _wanted_ to wed Daenerys? A widow thrice times over and a stranger to me until the day of our marriage!"

Arya shrugged in that irritating, disinterested way she had with her. "A King needed a Queen and a Queen needed a King." She muttered.

"As a Lady needs a Lord and a woman needs a man" Jon shot back quickly, warming to his theme, "…as a brother needs a sister who will assist him in whatever ways she can, as a King requires fealty from his subjects and as the Stormlands demand protection."

"I care nothing for marriage and I care less for the Stormlands." She countered dismissively,

Jon tightened his grip on her shoulders. His hands itched to shake some sense into her, yet he did not. Instead he gritted his teeth and tried again,

"Then perhaps it will not trouble you to sit with me when the small folk from those lands come to me to tell me of their pillaged farms, their raped women and their stolen children. Sit by my side and listen to these people beg for my help, then tell me you care nothing for the Stormlands."

"You have named _The Bastard Knight _Lord Protector of the Stormlands. So I must assume he will care for his lands and protect your people. What use can I be to you or to a_ Bastard Knight _in this?"

Arya regarded him coolly as she repeated the name given to her would-be-husband by his enemies. Jon had to remove himself from her for fear his anger would overwhelm him. His tenuous grip on his self control was obvious in the way he stalked to the window, the way he leaned heavily against the stone wall and the way the muscles in his neck tightened as he ground his teeth.

He was well aware of the whispers; _Bastard Knight, Bastard Lord, Bastard King. _

Jon took a deep breath, held it and exhaled slowly. As he did so he called to mind Tyrion's words of advice from all those years ago, "_Never forget who you are, for surely the world won't. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it and it will never be used to hurt you_."

And he had learned the lesson well. Let others call him and Weyland what they would, but Arya…

Was she insulted that her brother, her King, was suggesting marriage to a bastard? Did she consider this marriage beneath her?

The Arya that Jon had known as a child had made no difference between him and her full blood brothers and he had loved her for it. But the Arya who sat beside him now was no innocent girl. She had been lost to him for seven years and had spoken so little since her return that he had scant idea what she was thinking or of the woman she had become.

"War raises good men above their expected station in life and he is a good man. His men love him and I believe you will too – given time. If you find him very much against your liking, then I will attempt to dissuade him, although he assures me he wants only you."

Jon thought again on the similarities of situation he shared with Weyland - two bastards, trying to make their way as great lords. As a boy he had been Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell, destined for what? The Wall had raised him to Lord Commander of the Night's Watch; Stannis had supposedly removed the stain of bastardy to raise him higher still. _War_ had raised him to King and brought him his Queen. War had also elevated Weyland far beyond his natural expectations. Now honoured with the title of Lord Baratheon, marriage to a King's sister would raise him higher again, yet Jon doubted that was why his friend sought Arya's hand.

"I will not wed. If you think to make me, you will find that neither you nor these walls can hold me." Her voice was flat, emotionless. She wasn't threatening him, she was simply stating facts – she had skills acquired in Braavos he knew little of, but which he had no doubt would enable her to disappear again. Next time even Brienne of Tarth might not find her. He could not allow there to be a next time.

"So you'll run?" He snapped. Despite his best intentions to remain calm during this 'negotiation' with his sister, Jon's patience had worn through. "And to where would you run Arya? Where would a Braavosi sell-sword find employment in times of peace? With Lords who still seek to defy me? With those who have lost the war, but still seek revenge for some slight? You would do that to me?" He was yelling now and that made him angrier still - at himself more than her.

She remained silent, contemplating the scene of devastation from the window.

Harsh words and threats would not have worked with the Arya of his childhood. Nay, they would only pusher her further away from him and it would be the same now. He hoped he still knew his sister well enough to appeal to something else; something he suspected was long buried by whatever terrible things had happened to her, but something he had to believe still burned deep within – a flickering flame he hoped to ignite, to see blaze again the way it had in the girl he had known. He needed her love and her loyalty, but how to get it?

"Would you flee across the narrow sea and run from the brother who asks for your help? Would you hide from your King? I never thought _you _a coward Arya! I still fight a war. The war for peace! I need your allegiance to win this war. If I cannot win it, then _everything - _all our loss, all our struggle, all our suffering, will have been for naught!"

She finally turned to him and fixed him with those piercing grey eyes. Calling her a coward was a low blow, but would it provoke the response he wanted…needed?

Her eyes narrowed and her hands were balled into fists of rage, but at last she spoke, slowly and deliberately, grinding every word out reluctantly.

"Why does this lord want _me_ brother?"

Jon had asked himself this very question. Was it possible Robert Baratheon's bastard wished to strengthen his position for a future claim on the Iron Throne? Marriage to a Princess of the North would certainly strengthen that claim, but Jon did not and _would_ not, believe that was his friend's intention. No, Jon had come to believe the blame for Weyland's desire to wed his sister lay squarely at his own feet.

Around campfires, on long marches, during the interminable waiting that is the inevitable companion to the urgency of battle, Weyland had liked nothing more than for Jon to tell him stories of his childhood in Winterfell and in particular of his wild, younger sister.

Jon had not though anything of it at first, assuming that his friend, an orphan from an early age and with no siblings of his own, found Jon's stories of life in a large and vigorous family merely an entertaining diversion from the mind numbing waiting they frequently had to endure. But years passed and his friend would ask him time and again to recount the same stories about Arya. As Jon watched the way his friend's battle hardened face would light up at the mere mention of her name and her wild antics, Jon had come to realise he had made Weyland fall in love with a memory of a girl who no longer existed.

Jon had to accept it was his own fault for initiating this, otherwise unexplained, interest in his sister.

Weyland had never met Arya, nor shown any need to do so before declaring his determination to wed her. Jon groaned. The Arya who sat before him was brittle and cold and not at all the fiery girl of his stories. Weyland had fallen in love with an idealised memory. She was no longer wild, spirited _Arya underfoot_ whom Jon had loved so much in his youth; who Weyland now thought he also loved.

His sister and his friend had to meet and soon. If Jon forced the marriage before they were properly acquainted, as was not unusual in marriages of convenience, then he feared for the consequences. If…nay _when_, Weyland found his new bride to be lacking in all the wonderful attributes Jon had bestowed upon her, then none of them would be happy. It could not end well. If Jon's loyalties were to be torn between his strongest Captain and his youngest sister; he was truly not sure where those loyalties would lie. Best to end this infatuation of Weyland's now, before a hasty marriage destroyed their friendship and possibly more. Perhaps he could find another way to deal with House Baratheon and another, less demanding lord for Arya to marry.

"I will have you meet him soon Arya." Jon said finally, turning on his heel and leaving her before he was provoked into doing or saying something he might come to regret. He would ask Daenerys to talk to her and persuade her of the need to wed. Perhaps his Queen would succeed where he had so obviously failed.

Ghost left at Jon's heels. To Arya's disgust, Nymeria followed Ghost.

"Traitor!" Arya hissed under her breath as the she-wolf padded past.

Nymeria turned to stare at Arya with enigmatic amber eyes, but the Direwolf didn't come back. She followed her brother out of the door and Arya was left alone. Again.

-o-

**Next Friday…Weyland the Smith. **

**As I've already posted an extract from Chapter 2 on my story 'Wolf's Helmet' here it is again, as perhaps some of you haven't read it there.**

He was still removing his chain mail hauberk and gloves as he strode through the covered walkways that led from the stables to the heart of The Red Keep. His destination was Jon's solar, where the morning council was invariably held. It was yet half way to noon and he had no doubt he would find his friends still deep in their strategic planning.

The route was familiar enough, but he never paid much attention to what went on in the castle that did not directly affect him. Let Sam, Jon and Aegon worry about running this place, he had his own castle to run and the longer he lingered here, the more anxious he became to ride to the Stormlands and claim what was his. But he could not leave yet. There were still matters to be settled before he could turn his back on King's Landing; duties to be performed and a wife to be won. Once he had fulfilled his obligations and had his wife by his side, he did not intend to return here unless he was forcibly dragged behind a team of wild horses. Let them come to Storm's End.

As he strode along a high walkway, he heard familiar noises below. The grunts of effort he recognised from years of training, but there was not the usual accompanying clang of steel when swords met, or even the hard clap of wood against wood if practice swords were used. He stopped to listen.

There were swords at play all right; he would recognise the noise of steel slicing through air anywhere, but this 'whoosh' and sharp, high ring of metal against metal was new. Intrigued, he decided he needed to see what was afoot below. Let the strategic council wait. If he dallied a few minutes, indulged his interest in all things martial, it would hardly matter. He walked to the edge of the balcony intent on discovering the source of the noise.

He looked down on an open square, flooded with morning sunlight, where two combatants were engaged in a fast game of thrust and parry. The blades they used were mere toys; slim, tapered and so thin that they bent upon contact rather than inflicting a hard lesson as they should. He had never seen such swords and was immediately keen to know of their history, the secrets of their construction and why, by The Gods, anyone had a use for such a…such a… _useless_ blade.

The man he could see was dark skinned, sweating and vaguely familiar; one of Aegon's Golden Company perhaps? He tended to avoid mixing with those pirates as much as he could, but their paths had probably crossed at some point. He had no idea of the man's name, but was fairly certain he hailed from Bravvos or one of the other free cities. Whatever his name, he was clearly no match for his more skilled opponent.

They fought side on, not face to face and toe to toe in the way he was used to. He had never seen such a style before - or had he? Had _she_ not told him once to face his opponent side on to present a smaller target? He snorted with derision. His size had intimidated many an opponent in the field. Better to let them see the full size and strength of him, for then he would see the fear in their eyes. When he saw that fear, even if it was before he'd swung his sword, he knew he had already won.

As he watched, the sweating man was pushed farther and farther back across the yard, drawing the certain victor out into the open. There was ample opportunity to study the superior swordsman and his technique as he advanced on and on into the centre of the square. He was tall and slim and although each man was dressed similarly in boiled leather, the man he could only now see cut a much more athletic figure. His every movement was sharp, precise, powerful and relentless, but this was no sword play Weyland had witnessed before. The aim did not seem to be to disarm and defeat your opponent, but rather to score points and to showcase your skill and technique. The swordsman coming into view was undoubtedly a Master.

It was obvious with every lunge and thrust that he was witnessing years and years of training. The sword flowed with this warrior and every movement was perfectly controlled, balanced and full of lethal grace.

Weyland imagined he was watching a performance or a dance, rather than training which had the sole aim of saving your life on the battlefield. In his own training he had only ever been concerned with disarming and defeating his opponent as quickly and as ruthlessly as possible. The difference between living and dying lay in your speed and strength and Weyland had both in abundance.

He turned his attention from the style of fighting to the fighters themselves. The sweating man was a decent enough sword, but clearly outmatched as he was forced to retreat further and further back. The morning was still cool and yet he was drenched in sweat and almost on the verge of yielding. The grunting Weyland had heard earlier was coming solely from this sweating man, while The Master made barely a sound. The hair at the base of the almost-victor's neck was damp and his skin glistened in the morning light, but beyond that, there were no signs of exertion or strain. His movements remained calm, unforced and each target was claimed with pin-point accuracy.

As he watched with increasing fascination, Weyland's attention was caught by the suppleness of an exposed wrist and the grace of a gently curved thigh. His heart missed a beat. There was a perfection of form and sensuality about this warrior no man could match. After all those years, he had almost failed to recognise her.

He had not expected her to be as tall, but the hair was the same; dark and unruly like Jon's. The sudden realisation that he watched Arya Stark made him jerk back into the shadows, his heart hammering in his chest. It was her, returned from the dead.

Brienne of Tarth had made good her promise, but what if Arya realised he watched? What if she looked up and their eyes met? Would she smile and welcome him as an old friend? Or would she see him and curse him for abandoning her to The Hound? He cursed himself now for a coward, but he needed to speak to Jon, needed to see how it was with her before he made his approach.

Without risking another look, he strode towards Jon's Solar, only this time with a far greater sense of urgency.

**Until next Friday…**


	2. Chapter 2- Lord Baratheon of Storm's End

**Chapter 2**

**Lord Baratheon of Storm's End**

Bad Company broke camp before dawn and rode for King's Landing at first light, their Commander's impatience driving them to set a fast pace. Not a man grumbled, for they all knew, and understood, the reason for his haste.

The men of Bad Company rode hard and light; their supplies limited to what each man and his mount could carry. Carts and comforts made for slow progress. With no ravens, they had no news from King's Landing since setting out ten days past. Provisions and their Commander's patience were now in short supply.

When they should have stopped for rest, Weyland urged them on towards the towers of the Red Keep, standing proud like a beacon on the horizon. When they finally rode into the bailey yard, men and animals were spent. The men dismounted with stiff legs, while horses hung their weary heads. Every man, including Lord Baratheon, still had his mount to attend to before seeking their own rest. They began unfastening saddles and removing halters, with long practiced economy of effort and the minimum of conversation. There would be time enough for banter tonight, when they would, at last, eat and drink their fill.

The tour had been hard and the news was not good. Bad Company's mood was sombre and would remain so until rest and sustenance could renew their cheer. Each man's personal belongings had to be removed from their mounts and safely stowed. If a horse was the most valuable thing a man owned, then his sword and his saddle were next. The stable boys knew to keep well out of their way until the men were finished with their own work, all except one; a boy of about ten and two who approached the Commander and, setting a bold hand on the magnificent destrier's sweating neck, brazenly declared "Ser, you should not trouble yourself with this, while am here."

Weyland shifted his focus from the cinch in his hands, to the boy who addressed him so boldly. He saw a dirty youth, tall and far too skinny for his height with sharp features and bright green eyes.

"He's no '_Ser_'" Lem, who was attending to his own horse nearby, gruffly pointed out, "That's _Lord_ Baratheon you're addressing boy and you would be well advised to remove your hand from Thunder's neck, or you might get more than you bargained for."

The boy immediately dropped to one knee on the straw floor, bowing his head to the Commander. "My…My Lord…I did not realise" he stuttered.

Weyland shot Lem a surprised glance.

"Better get used to that." His second-in-command muttered, trying not to smile.

Lord Baratheon gripped the boy's arm, to pull him up, only to find his hand grasping a shockingly thin limb hidden under the dirty sleeve. Other lads would have been shaking by now, but as soon as this one was set again on his feet, his hand was back on Thunder's neck, in defiance of Lem's advice. And, more surprising still, Thunder didn't seem to mind.

The boy regarded Weyland with sharp green eyes "'Tis not right that my Lord should have to see to his own horse." Damn if the boy wasn't brazen. And persistent.

"The lad's got a point" Lem chuckled to Weyland as both men cast their eyes over the bold boy standing before them, who met their eyes and returned their stares with just as much interest. He looked like he could do with a good feed and a bath, but there was an earnest quality to the boy that both cheered and amused Weyland.

"What's your name lad and what is it to you if I attend to my own horse?" Lord Baratheon demanded, but with a twinkle in his eye.

"It's Ty Ser…I mean _My Lord_…and I am a stable hand employed by the Three Headed Dragon this past week" he declared self-importantly, his thin chest puffing out with pride.

"A whole week?" Lem gasped in mock surprise, "And did Queen Daenerys hand pick you for the job herself?"

For all his swagger, the boy turned a shocking shade of scarlet at Lem's teasing.

"So you fancy yourself as my squire Ty?" Weyland asked, having taken an immediate like to the boy and his boldness. If Thunder allowed him close, then the boy was halfway to being accepted into Bad Company already.

Before Ty had a chance to answer, Anguy butted in with another question, "You got a family name boy?"

Weyland drew his archer a disapproving look as the boy shook his head.

"It's a fair question!" Anguy replied defensively, "the boy might look quite the young lord once he's clean. He's tall and with decent food; some rack of lamb, roast chicken perhaps, maybe a few haunches of peppered boar, he could be broad too. Might even make a Knight when you're older, eh Ty?" Anguy winked at the lad. Ty was now so red and flustered; he looked like his head might pop off with embarrassment and excitement. Weyland wasn't sure if it was the prospect of becoming his squire that excited the boy so, or if it was Anguy's description of all the food he might eat.

"Don't tease the lad." Weyland growled, feeling uncomfortable that the lad was getting his hopes up, perhaps for naught.

"Ach, I'm not teasing him. You need a squire. Ty's right, Lord Baratheon can't be seeing to his own horse. Have ever seen Aegon with a bucket of oats and a shovel of shit? And who else are you going to get? One of your new lordly friend's sons? How would it look if your squire had better manners and more airs and graces than you?!"

Several of his men stifled chuckles behind him. He should be irritated but, Gods help him, he liked the boy and Anguy had a point.

"Aye, sounds about right to me - a bastard squire for a Bastard Knight." Lem chipped in approvingly. "We'll all help train you Ty. We all helped train _him_ a few years back…" Lem nodded to the new Lord Baratheon "…and he didn't turn out so bad. Stick with us and we'll make a Knight of you some day. 'Bought time we had some new blood in Bad Company." There were mutters of approval from several of the other men.

It looked to Weyland as if the deed was already done. He held out his hand. The boy just stared at it, bewildered until Anguy gestured wildly behind Lord Baratheon for the boy to take it. Man and boy shook on the deal.

"You shall be my squire Ty. Welcome to Bad Company!"

Cheers of "Bad Company!" and "Ty the squire!" echoed around the stables, causing some of the horses in the stalls to skitter nervously and the other stable boys to look enviously at Ty.

Weyland handed Thunder's reigns to his squire. He recognised that look of wonder on the boy's face. His own face must have surely worn the same expression the first time Tobho Mott put a hammer in his hand. It made Weyland's heart glad to see it and, seven hells, there had been little enough to cheer him recently. Lord Baratheon made to depart with a smile on his face.

"Tell cook that you are to receive double portions at every meal! Tell him Lord Baratheon commands it!" he shouted over his shoulder as he strode towards the door.

He would reach Jon's solar sooner than he had expected and hopefully obtain news from Brienne of Tarth while he was there. He had much to report to Jon and Aegon. The tales of raiders in the Kingswood and their defiance of the law grew more numerous everyday and, from the witnesses he had spoken to, the outlaws became ever bolder. Even if the Storm Lands had not now been his, he would have felt obligated to remove this scourge, but he was now Lord of the Storm Lands and the smallfolk of those lands were _his _responsibility. He would not stand by and let them suffer any more at the hands of this scum. He would seek leave from The Kings to ride with his men as soon as they could be ready again. He intended to wipe these buggers from the face of the earth and lay down his marker for any other shit who fancied his chances against the Lord of Storm's End – defy me and face my wrath. _Ours is the fury_ indeed.

He was still removing his chain mail hauberk and gloves as he strode through the covered walkways that led from the stables to the heart of The Red Keep. Once he reached Jon's solar he had no doubt he would find his friends still deep in their strategic planning.

The route was familiar enough, but he never paid much attention to what went on in the castle that did not directly affect him. Let Sam, Jon and Aegon worry about running this place, he had his own castle to run and the longer he lingered here, the more anxious he became to ride to the Stormlands and claim what was his. But he could not leave yet. There were still matters to be settled before he could turn his back on King's Landing; duties to be performed and a wife to be won. Once he had fulfilled his obligations and had his wife by his side, he did not intend to return here unless he was forcibly dragged behind a team of wild horses. Let them come to Storm's End.

As he strode along a high walkway, he heard familiar noises below. The grunts of effort he recognised from years of training, but there was not the usual accompanying clang of steel when swords met, or even the hard clap of wood against wood if practice swords were used. He stopped to listen.

There were swords at play all right; he would recognise the noise of steel slicing through air anywhere, but this 'whoosh' and sharp, high ring of metal against metal was new. Intrigued, he decided he needed to see what was afoot below. Let the strategic council wait. If he dallied a few minutes, indulged his interest in all things martial, it would hardly matter. He walked to the edge of the balcony intent on discovering the source of the noise.

He looked down on an open square, flooded with morning sunlight, where two combatants were engaged in a fast game of thrust and parry. The blades they used were mere toys; slim, tapered and so thin that they bent upon contact rather than inflicting a hard lesson as they should. He had never seen such swords and was immediately keen to know of their history, the secrets of their construction and why, by The Gods, anyone had a use for such a…such a… _useless_ blade.

The man he could see was dark skinned, sweating and vaguely familiar; one of Aegon's Golden Company perhaps? He tended to avoid mixing with those pirates as much as he could, but their paths had probably crossed at some point. He had no idea of the man's name, but was fairly certain he hailed from Braavos or one of the other free cities. Whatever his name, he was clearly no match for his more skilled opponent.

They fought side on, not face to face and toe to toe in the way he was used to. He had never seen such a style before - or had he? Had _she_ not told him once to face his opponent side on to present a smaller target? He snorted with derision. His size had intimidated many an opponent in the field. Better to let them see the full size and strength of him, for then he would see the fear in their eyes. When he saw that fear, even if it was before he'd swung his sword, he knew he had already won.

As he watched, the sweating man was pushed farther and farther back across the yard, drawing the certain victor out into the open. There was ample opportunity to study the superior swordsman and his technique as he advanced on and on into the centre of the square. He was tall and slim and although each man was dressed similarly in boiled leather, the man he could only now see cut a much more athletic figure. His every movement was sharp, precise, powerful and relentless, but this was no sword play Weyland had witnessed before. The aim did not seem to be to disarm and defeat your opponent, but rather to score points and to showcase your skill and technique. The swordsman coming into view was undoubtedly a Master.

It was obvious with every lunge and thrust that he was witnessing years and years of training. The sword flowed with this warrior and every movement was perfectly controlled, balanced and full of lethal grace.

Weyland imagined he was watching a performance or a dance, rather than training which had the sole aim of saving your life on the battlefield. In his own training he had only ever been concerned with disarming and defeating his opponent as quickly and as ruthlessly as possible. The difference between living and dying lay in your speed and strength and Weyland had both in abundance.

He turned his attention from the style of fighting to the fighters themselves. The sweating man was a decent enough sword, but clearly outmatched as he was forced to retreat further and further back. The morning was still cool and yet he was drenched in sweat and almost on the verge of yielding. The grunting Weyland had heard earlier was coming solely from this sweating man, while The Master made barely a sound. The hair at the base of the almost-victor's neck was damp and his skin glistened in the morning light, but beyond that, there were no signs of exertion or strain. His movements remained calm, unforced and each target was claimed with pin-point accuracy.

As he watched with increasing fascination, Weyland's attention was caught by the suppleness of an exposed wrist and the grace of a gently curved thigh. His heart missed a beat. There was a perfection of form and sensuality about this warrior no man could match. After all those years, he had almost failed to recognise her.

He had not expected her to be as tall, but the hair was the same; dark and unruly like Jon's. The sudden realisation that he watched Arya Stark made him jerk back into the shadows, his heart hammering in his chest. It was her, returned from the dead.

Brienne of Tarth had made good her promise, but what if Arya realised he watched? What if she looked up and their eyes met? Would she smile and welcome him as an old friend? Or would she see him and curse him for abandoning her to The Hound? He cursed himself now for a coward, but he needed to speak to Jon, needed to see how it was with her before he made his approach.

Without risking another look, he strode towards Jon's solar, only this time with a far greater sense of urgency.

Jon maintained guards outside his rooms. Overcautious Aegon said, but there were still forces that opposed the rule of The Three Headed Dragon; scattered and weak, but still a threat nonetheless and Jon was no fool. One lone assassin might achieve what several armies could not. Jon had handpicked his oldest companions, men of The Night's Watch for his personal guard; men who had known him and fought alongside him longer than even Weyland himself. Today it was the turn of Grenn and Pyp.

Weyland nodded a greeting to the two men. They looked bored ridged and eager for the chance of some news.

"How goes life outside The Red Keep?" Grenn asked. Weyland imagined he could hear childish excitement in the big man's voice. "I swear I would rather sleep out there with the army than under this buggering roof. A featherbed here is of no comfort to a man more used to open spaces and the stars over his head."

"Find a soft woman with child bearing hips to warm your feather bed and I'll wager you'll soon change your mind" Weyland observed dryly as he strode past, leaving a suddenly thoughtful Grenn and a smirking Pyp behind him. _Bloody Crows_. The wall was no longer, their Lord Commander himself had taken a wife and still they held to that bloody vow. He shook his head in disbelief.

Jon, Aegon and Sam all looked up from a map spread out on the desk as he entered. He was pleased to see a warm welcome on all three faces, but his eyes were immediately drawn to the floor. He was surprised to see another Direwolf lying beside Ghost. One Direwolf basking in the sun was a sizeable obstacle to negotiate, but two of them covered almost all of the free floor space in the solar.

"Nymeria" Sam explained, following Weyland's gaze. "Arrived out of nowhere with Ghost – the day before Lady Arya. It's all been happening while you were away you know."

As if she understood every word, the great tawny Direwolf lifted her regal head from Ghost's shoulder and regarded him with knowing amber eyes. Weyland would have sworn that those eyes held more intelligence than half the men he knew.

He took a tentative step nearer, half expecting the she-wolf to bare her teeth. No such warning came, so he extended his hand and crouched down beside the wolves. As usual, Ghost paid him no mind at all, his white flanks slowly rising and falling in a contented slumber. The she-wolf's enigmatic eyes never left his as he slowly, slowly reached further towards her, meaning to scratch her behind the ears in the way that Ghost, if he was in the mood, seemed to like.

When Weyland's fingers were within touching distance of those silky ears, Nymeria languidly turned her head and, to his surprise, licked his hand from wrist to fingertips. He had to fight the urge to jerk his hand back. Ghost had never done that to him and it was entirely unexpected. But there was something else…something shockingly sensual about the rasp of that strong, wet tongue against his palm.

"I see _the bitch_ likes you" Aegon snorted.

Weyland bristled at the King's tone and Nymeria seemed to share his sentiment, as she gave a low, warning growl. Weyland had no doubt the Direwolf's animosity was aimed at Aegon rather than himself. He tentatively scratched Nymeria behind her ear as he had originally intended and he could have sworn the she-wolf relaxed into his touch. She even favoured him with what sounded suspiciously like a contented purr.

"See what I mean?" Aegon huffed. "Won't let me near her; not that I'd want to get too close anyway. I don't want to end up like Jaime Lannister."

"A Kingslayer?" muttered Weyland, deliberately misunderstanding the reference.

"Of course I didn't mean that!" Aegon shot back defensively. "I meant one handed of course" he added rather sullenly as the other three gave him various degrees of disapproving looks.

"We didn't expect you back until tomorrow. Did you encounter trouble?" Jon asked, wisely changing the subject.

Weyland reluctantly stopped scratching Nymeria and straightened up, walking over to pour himself a cup of water as he gathered his thoughts. _She was back_ and her Direwolf with her. It was only a matter of time before he would meet her again.

Then he noticed, to his shame that his hand was shaking. He placed the water jug back down in haste, hoping none of the others noticed.

Had he known Lady Arya Stark was returned, he would have cut his mission even shorter, but there was truth in what Grenn said. Weyland would rather be outside the walls of The Red Keep than behind them. After years in the field, it was strange to sleep in a soft bed in the same place for night after night. He needed a woman of his own to warm his featherbed he thought ruefully and the only one he had ever wanted was finally, finally within his grasp.

"No trouble until we hit the King's Road. Then there was nought but bad news from The Storm Lands. I spoke to several refugees, fleeing for their lives. They'll be at the gates in a few days, seeking sanctuary and justice. By your leave, I'll take my men and rid us of this plague of vermin. I intend to ride out again as soon as we can be ready."

He turned back to the table and downed his water, making sure his body shielded the cup as he lifted it unsteadily to his lips. His hand shook less, but he did not want the matter commented upon, at least not with Aegon here.

This time it was Jon who spoke. "Of course you must go, but can you not tarry a few days? You and I have some…personal matters…to resolve before you take your leave."

Aegon laughed out loud. "You'll have your hands full with Lady Arya. She's as much of a she-wolf as that one lying in the sun over there. Good luck my friend. Let us hope that if the Direwolf likes to tongue you, her mistress will too!"

"Too far Aegon!" Jon snapped, catching Weyland's arm in a vice like grip as his friend suddenly headed for Aegon, intent upon make the Targaryen take back that insult.

Sam hurriedly stepped in front of Aegon as Jon tightened his hold further on Weyland. To everyone's surprise, Nymeria was suddenly at Weyland's heel, teeth bared and snarling at Aegon. Ghost, silent as always, stood ready at her shoulder.

Aegon immediately took a large step backwards and held his hands up in an act of submission. "I forgot myself and I apologize most profusely. I would never intentionally besmirch your sister's reputation Jon, or your intended's character Weyland. Please accept my humble and sincere apology."

Both Jon and Weyland muttered a grudging acceptance, Weyland's through gritted teeth as Sam physically manhandled Aegon towards the door.

"We'll leave you two in peace then." Sam panted as he pushed Aegon from the room and swiftly closed the door behind them.

"That fucker goes too far! All the time. The sooner I get to Storm's End the better, and safer, for both of us." Weyland snarled.

Jon sat down heavily in his chair and let out a long, slow sigh. The two Direwolves slowly resumed their place in the sun.

"Yes he does, but he is as perceptive as ever." Jon conceded. "She is indeed a she-wolf. I fear that the Arya who has returned to me is not the Arya I knew and have held close to my heart all these years."

"Aye, she is a woman full grown now." Weyland agreed wistfully. Her figure was a combination of grace and strength that he could watch forever. When he closed his eyes, he could still see her. With each remembered lunge and thrust his heart beat faster and his throat tightened. All his hopes to wed and bed her came flooding back in a sudden rush of blood, which seemed to flow straight to his cock.

Opening his eyes and catching Jon's puzzled look, he quickly added "I mean - she is no longer the child of your memories. I saw her at her sword practice while making my way here."

"She trains for hours; every day since she arrived, without fail." Jon said wearily. "She refuses to attend dinner, will barely speak – even to me. All I know is that she has been mostly in Braavos since the war began and has the skills and dubious loyalty of a sellsword."

Jon calling his sister's loyalty into question was shocking, but Weyland had other, more pressing matters, on his mind than Arya's loyalties; matters that were so pressing upon his mind and his britches, that he couldn't stop himself from blurting out "And my proposal? What does m'lady say to that?"

"Do you want to know what she really said, or shall I sweeten the blow for you my friend?"

Weyland groaned and raked his hand through his hair. So there would be no longed for, joyous reunion. "Tell me the truth and be done with it."

Then I shall quote her exactly. "You and your Lord Baratheon can both stick this marriage proposal up your arse" Jon repeated reluctantly.

Despite his abject disappointment, Weyland had to laugh. "Perhaps she has not changed as much as you think old friend. Perhaps she has just grown up and learned a few more choice phrases."

Jon shook his head. "Be assured that I sung your praises to the high heavens and impressed upon her the suitability and the necessity of the match. I even tried to _order her_ to marry you."

Weyland snorted. They both knew an order like that would never work on Arya.

"Then I pleaded with her as her brother to at least meet with you before she dismissed the matter altogether."

"And…?" Weyland asked, hopefully. Surely even Arya wouldn't be as pig headed as to refuse her brother's request for a simple meeting?

"I've to stick that up my arse as well." Jon sighed wearily.

Weyland would not give up hope. After all these years, he would _make_ it happen, or at least he would give it his damndest attempt. He hadn't won a war and risen to Lord Baratheon because of his easy-going nature. He could be cussed and determined when he set his mind to something and he had decided long ago that he would make himself a suitable match for Lady Arya Stark. He was a Lord now as she was a Lady. _No-one_ could deny he was worthy of her. And they had been friends. What more could she want in a husband?

She could want a husband in the first place, which, according to Jon she did not. Weyland was confident that, between them, they would make her see sense. What woman didn't want a strong man to warm her bed? What man didn't want a wife to warm his and bear him strapping sons and feisty daughters? Even a she-wolf needs a he-wolf he thought smugly. Arya would come around to the idea soon enough; hopefully sooner rather than later, as he was itching to claim his castle and lands with her by his side.

If she thought she would escape him by telling him to stick all the hopes and dreams he had carried with him for these long years in a very dark, very private place, then she didn't know him at all. Perhaps that was the problem.

His revere was interrupted by a commotion outside the door. He heard yelled curses, but they were good natured, rather than threatening. He was not surprised when Brienne of Tarth burst into the solar with her too long limbs, ridiculous hair and determined expression.

He and Jon immediately stood as she entered. She might be a Knight, but she was still a woman and deserved womanly courtesies. At least, Jon and Weyland thought so.

She was at him in two long strides and, to his uncomfortable surprise, immediately dropped to one knee before him.

"My Lord." She murmured, dipping her head, grabbing his hand and bringing it to her lips. Surprisingly soft lips brushed against his knuckles. They hadn't seen each other since Jon had raised him to him Lord Baratheon, before the battle, in front of the closed gates of King's Landing. Jon had insisted it be done then, in case either of them did not survive the assault on the Red Keep. But survive they had and Lem was right, he was going to have to get used to this kneeling business, but not from her.

Reaching down, he placed his hands on her arms and drew her up to him. She was the only woman who could look him in the eye and, to his shock, he saw hers shine with unshed tears. Brienne never cried. He had seen her at her lowest, close to death and in every imaginable horrific situation, but never had he seen her vulnerable like this.

"_Lord Baratheon of Storm's End_." Her voice was soft and low, wavering with emotion. "I never thought to speak those words again."

"Aye, I am Lord of Storm's End, by King Jon's good grace." He smiled and was relieved to see she managed a weak smile back. She also sniffed and rubbed the back of her hand across her freckled nose. Still the same Brienne and, please the God's, she would never change. "When the time comes, will you ride with me to Storm's End? You know there is no other I would rather have at my back."

"While you know I feel the same, I cannot come."

He frowned. Not only had this been his dream, it had been hers too. Avenge Renly and retake what was rightfully his.

"I cannot. I have sworn to perform a task for Lady Arya."

He blew out a long sigh. Brienne and her bloody oaths. This would be her off on another quest. Would she never learn? He supposed he ought not to complain, as without her he would have no Arya and it was also Brienne who had found and rescued Sansa. But when would the Maid of Tarth find her own peace?

"I can only hope this is your last quest. And what happens after? Will you come to Storm's End once you are done with this?"

"I still cannot." Seeing the frustration written on his face, she dropped her eyes and muttered, "I would go to my Jaime."

Her use of the word 'my' was not lost on Lord Baratheon. He placed a finger under her chin and gently raised her eyes to meet his again. "_Your _Jaime?" he asked softly.

He face flushed the most appealing shade of pink and for a moment he could see her as the young girl who had danced with Renly Baratheon all those years ago and lost her heart for the first time. That bugger Jaime Lannister had better appreciate what a wondrous woman he was getting.

"Does the Kingslayer know yet that he is yours?" Weyland couldn't keep a smile from his lips as he thought of Brienne charging in to Casterly Rock to claim her prize.

"No. But I intend to leave him in no doubt about it this time." She said with a wicked grin and that determined glint in her eye.

He could only hope Jaime Lannister was well prepared; for that was an assault Jaime had no hope of repelling.

"Enough of me." Brienne shook her head and freed her chin from his hand. "I must speak with you of Lady Arya before she arrives."

"When is she arriving?" he asked, puzzled. Had he not just seen her, engrossed in her swordplay?

"Shortly. On my way here I met Sam who was off to find her and bring her to you."

"What?!" He could not keep the shock, nae panic, from his voice. He was not prepared. He had not determined what to say to her, although part of him doubted he would ever find the right words, even if he had more time. Seven hells, he had five years to prepare for this and still he was at a loss.

"Stop, squawking like a babe. She is a woman, you are a man. You will either find an understanding between you or you won't. Now listen to what I have to tell you..." Her eyes darted to Jon who stood with his back to them, steadfastly gazing out of the window. She dropped her voice to a low whisper.

"Lady Arya is troubled. She has difficulty sleeping and when she does; her mind is plagued by restless dreams. There is something amiss, but I cannot prise from her what it is that vexes her so. However, I can tell you she has a list of names. Some I recognise, some I do not. Ghosts from the past."

"How do you know this?"

"Because she talks in her sleep, obviously." Brienne hissed. Sometimes men could be so unimaginative. "Mayhap you will be able to hear more, once you reach your _understanding_ with her eh?" She wagged her finger at him and winked.

He chose to ignore the implication Brienne was making, for fear of getting his hopes, and another part of him that currently rested in his britches, up. "What names?"

"The ones I know and can make out from her restless mutterings are; Ser llyn Payne, Ser Gregor, Ser Meryn Trant, King Joffrey, Queen Cersi."

"All dead" he muttered.

"Aye and every one deserved it. But some died in mysterious circumstances. You should ask yourself by whose hand." Brienne tapped the side of her misshapen, freckly nose.

He looked at her blankly. Brienne furrowed her brow with frustration.

"She is no mere sellsword, believe me. The place where I found her in Braavos is one of legend." Brienne leaned even closer to him, so their heads were almost touching. "Are you familiar with The House of Black and White?" She whispered softly, with something akin to awe in her voice.

"You know I have never been to Braavos."

"But you do not need to have visited there to have heard of the occupants of _that_ house."

She put her hand firmly on his armoured shoulder and turned them both away from Jon, leaning to his ear and whispering "'Tis the home of The Faceless Men."

"Brienne, you jest." He almost laughed. Almost, but not quite. Hadn't he seen the evidence for himself this morning? _Years and years of training. In Braavos. In the House of Black and White._

Brienne met his eyes and raised one eyebrow. She was far from jesting.

"If she is as you say, then she would hardly need _you_ to carry out any task for her." He countered fiercely. Brienne narrowed her eyes at him, obviously displeased he was not immediately accepting of her word.

Why was he fighting his friend on this? Brienne had never lied to him or to anyone else in all the years he had known her. In truth he suspected she was incapable of lying. Her oh-so-honest bright blue eyes and her maidenly blushing would give her away in an instant. He needed to deny it because he didn't want to believe what Brienne was suggesting could be true.

"I am to find the last name on her list – The Hound, if he still lives. Only find him for her. Nothing more."

The damned Hound who had stolen her from him. Arya would want no other to take her revenge. She wanted Clegane found so she could swing the sword herself, as her father had taught all his children. And Jon. It was all falling into place too well to be untrue.

A heartfelt groan escaped his lips as he rolled his eyes skyward .Why could things never be easy for him, as they were for other men? Why must he always have to fight for everything he wanted? His lady was one of the most feared assassins on the face of the earth. _May the Gods help him. _

_**And forgive me for leaving you on this cliff-hanger! So Arya is on her way. How will their reunion go? You'll need to wait until next Friday to find out…**_


	3. Chapter 3 - Family, Duty, Honour

**Chapter 3**

**Family, Duty, Honour**

**First – the bad news…this chapter turned out to be longer than I expected, so I've had to split it. The second half still needs some work and, while I want to stick to my "Every Friday" promise, I don't want to post something I'm not happy with. So you'll have to wait a bit longer for you-know-what.**

**Next – the good news. I'm not going to make you wait until next Friday. I'm not that cruel! It's almost done, so I'll post the second half later this weekend.**

"Before you leave Brienne, tell me - does she know of this?" Weyland raised his hand and followed the curving scar under his left eye with his fingertip.

"No. She knows her mother is dead and I thought it best to leave it at that." Brienne whispered, casting another wary glance towards Jon. The King was still engrossed in the view from the window. "She asked no more and I did not offer."

Weyland was relieved he did not need to deal with an Arya who knew the circumstances of his mark now, but he would have to tell her soon, before she heard it from another.

"I intend to leave at first light to hunt The Hound. I have few clues and they are all years old." Brienne declared thoughtfully, her mind already shifting focus to her next task.

Lord Baratheon nodded. There was no point in trying to talk Brienne out of it, he had never succeeded before and knew he would be wasting his breath to even try now.

"Godspeed" he sighed as he clasped her shoulders tightly - the only form of affection she was comfortable with. "It is my intention to ride for Storm's End as soon as I have my wife. I hope _not_ to be here when you return."

Brienne grinned. "In which case I shall wish you Godspeed too. And good luck." She winked at him again. "I hope I shall find you and Lady Arya together wherever you are."

He watched her stride towards the door. She stopped at the threshold and turned back to him, "I suggest you wait until you are secure in her affections before you tell her."

He sighed and nodded. He had come to the same conclusion. If he told Arya too soon, he suspected she would never see past it.

"And do not tell her when she has a blade within easy reach."

"I wish I thought you were joking." He groaned.

"Have faith my lord. All will be well…I am sure of it." Brienne smiled and then she was gone. He wished he shared her confidence.

Weyland raked his fingers through his hair as he looked down at the white Direwolf lying at his feet. Ghost was no longer sleeping, but watching him intently, eyes and ears ready and alert. He addressed the wolf directly "I take it you heard all of that?"

"Every word" Jon answered wearily from across the room. Few people knew Jon was a warg and fewer still new how quickly and easily he could slip into Ghost's consciousness.

"So? Do you think it true? Your sister is a Faceless Man?" Weyland asked, directing his question to Jon this time.

King Jon turned away from the window, his face solemn and his eyes dark. "If it is true, then I must know why she is here. I cannot have an assassin living under my roof when there is so much at stake."

"But she is your sister! Surely you do not think she would…"

Jon cut him short. "I do not know what to think!" Jon snapped. "Sam fetches her now. You must learn it all Weyland; why she has come and what her intensions are. Until I can be sure of her, I will double the guard and I will have her watched."

Weyland opened his mouth to protest, but thought again and said nothing. Over the past months they had agreed the greatest threats they faced now did not come from armies and war, but from famine and a lone assassin's blade.

"I will do what I can." Weyland sighed. As if this wasn't going to be difficult enough already, now he had to cross-examine Arya too.

-o-

It had only been a fair practice Arya thought as she placed her rapier back in the rack. At no point had she felt at a disadvantage. To her mind, her opponent had been only middling at best, yet she had been assured he was renowned in Golden Company for his sword skills. If that was really the case, Golden Company's fearsome reputation was ill deserved.

She was wiping the sweat from the back of her neck, contemplating what to do with another empty afternoon, when her attention was drawn to heavy panting just outside the yard. She set off to investigate, only to find Sam, doubled over, his hands on his knees, sounding as if he was about to breath his last.

Arya folded her arms and leant against the nearest pillar. With no demands on her time, she could afford to wait.

Still bent over, Sam looked up at her with piggy eyes, his round face slick with sweat. He opened his mouth in an attempt to speak, took a few more rasping breaths, and then held one hand up towards her, the message clear – _I still can't speak, give me a moment._

'Twas a good job he was uncommonly clever, as he was a sorry excuse for a crow otherwise.

Eventually Sam straightened up, hands moving to his hips this time – or the rolls of fat where his hips ought to be.

"I have…decided to take…some exercise Lady Arya." He managed to choke out between gulped breaths.

"So I see." She smirked. Seven hells, he was a pathetic excuse for a crow.

"King Jon requests your presence…" Such a long statement was obviously still an effort and he had to hold up his hand again while he caught his breath, "…in his solar immediately."

Arya was finding the demands of King Jon increasingly wearisome. "Tell him I'm too busy." She drawled.

Sam seemed surprised. "Too busy doing what?"

"Just make something up." She pushed herself slowly off the wall, deciding on a whim that she might go for a walk. She hadn't been beyond the walls of the Red Keep yet. Perhaps she would go to Flea Bottom and catch a few cats for old time's sake. She wondered idly if that one-eared black devil of a tomcat still haunted the Red Keep. Perhaps she would go and seek him out instead; see if she was any faster – or if he was any slower.

"I can't do that!" Sam yelped, his voice high and indignant, then, dropping his voice, he added seriously, "I won't lie to Jon."

"Pah! 'Tis hardly much of a lie. Tell him the truth then! See if I care! Tell him I cannot endure another of his bloody lectures about marriage to the bloody Bastard Knight!"

Sam's eyes widened suddenly with alarm, staring at something, or someone, over Arya's shoulder.

A cool, rich voice from behind her declared "_Never_ is a very long time for one so young."

Arya whirled around to find Queen Daenerys standing with her hands on her hips, a disdainful expression on her face and anger flashing in her eyes. One of her Unsullied stood like a statute at her side.

Seven buggering hells. How much had The Queen heard?

"I believe your brother has requested _the pleasure_ of your company in his solar Arya."

Arya stifled a groan. Bugger. Ignoring fat Sam was one thing, opposing the will of the Queen when she stood right in front of her was another thing entirely.

"I was just going" Arya muttered reluctantly. She felt as if she was a child again, being scolded by Septa Mordane.

"What a coincidence! Seeing as I am going that way too, we can walk together." Daenerys gave Arya a beatific smile. Arya returned it with a tight, angry, little smile of her own.

"Sam – you too!" The Queen commanded and Sam dutifully fell in line, behind the eunuch slave soldier.

Daenerys did not have long and she did not wish to waste what little time she had in idol chatter, so she began immediately,

"Lord Baratheon has returned and it is he who awaits you in Jon's solar."

"Fuuuuuck." Arya hissed, not caring what Daenerys thought of that. She looked across at The Queen, hoping to catch her eye; daring Daenerys to attempt to reprimand her for her language or her attitude, but Daenerys looked only straight ahead, her back straight as a spear and a calm, dignified, queenly expression on her face.

"Jon tells me you have no wish to wed. Anyone." Daenerys continued smoothly, ignoring Arya's cursing.

"Correct." Arya confirmed with a smirk. Just let them try and marry her off to some worthy old soldier. She would enjoy making sure they all regretted the attempt.

"So, pray tell me what you intend to do with the rest of your life good sister?"

Arya hadn't expected that. She had her plan – to remove the last name from her list, but as to what happened after…if there even was an 'after', she had never considered. With every name, there was the risk that she might fail and become another victim of those she sought to destroy. She was singled minded in her pursuit of those who had wronged her and so far her luck had held, but she could make no plans until her revenge was absolute. And she wasn't about to tell anyone that.

"I hadn't given it much thought." Arya answered truthfully.

"Have you not longed for a babe in your arms and a good man who will love and care for you both?"

"No!" Arya yelled, wrinkling her nose in disgust. She could think of nothing worse! Babes were for ordinary women and Arya was most certainly not one of them, she thought proudly. Nor was she one of those soft ladies like Sansa who, since childhood, had imagined her whole life revolving around a pretty Knight who would come and sweep her off her feet and into his castle where she would spend the rest of her life birthing squalling babes and doing _exactly_ as her lord commanded. No, Arya was made for more. She had always known it.

A life of unquestioning obedience to some weak, empty-headed lord was certainly not for her; some idiot son of one of the Great Houses of Westeros, whose family name alone gave him status and power and whose fealty Jon hoped to buy with her hand in marriage. _Never!_ She would slit her own throat first! Actually, she would not do that. She would slit his, or better still, arrange an unfortunate accident in the eve of the wedding so no-one need know. His family might suspect, but they would never be able to prove anything. Let Jon try and marry her off again after that!

If Daenerys was shocked by Arya's declaration that she longed for neither children nor a good man, she did not show it, however The Queen did not believe it.

"You know not what you say Arya. You are a woman long since grown and you must accept your responsibilities to your House, your family, your brother and your King."

"And if I choose to deny these responsibilities?"

Queen Daenerys stopped walking and turned to Arya for the first time, her lips pursed, frost in her lilac eyes, "then you must leave, for there is no place here for you."

They stood silently, taking the measure of each other for a while. Sam shifted nervously from one foot to the other, the Unsullied betrayed no emotion, nor interest.

Arya was trapped and Daenerys knew it. Jon had made his position clear already, so there was no point appealing to him. Jon wanted her married to one of his lords. Perhaps he would not insist on this one, but there would be others.

Jon expected her to accept her fate as a high born lady. Arya found it almost laughably ironic that Lady Catelyn's mantra of "Family, Duty, Honour" was being enforced by the bastard her mother despised.

While Arya would have liked to imagine her fate would have been different had her father and mother lived, in her heart, she knew it would not have been so where marriage was concerned. Had her father not arranged for Sansa to wed that Baratheon pretender Joffrey? Seven years later, Arya was expected to be wed to another Baratheon. At least, being a bastard, this one might actually be the product of King Robert's loins, and not birthed from Lannister perversion like Joffrey. Seven years later and it was Jon, rather than Eddard who brokered the deal. Unlike Sansa, Arya had no intention of accepting her fate willingly.

"Is that what you want Arya? To leave your family again?" Daenerys asked eventually, breaking the oppressive silence.

What _did _she want? All Arya could think of was revenge. All Arya had been able to think of for years, was revenge. Part of her was afraid she couldn't feel any deeper than that any more.

Maybe she had been abandoned too many times since her family had been torn apart and scattered to the winds. Or perhaps it was even worse. Maybe she was just cold and hard as ice. Maybe she had always been that way. Killing had come easily and now she was able to discard faces they way she had always discarded places and people and memories. Maybe she was only a shell, unable to trust or love anyone. But she hoped she still loved her family. She would stay for them. For a while at least.

"It seems I have no choice but to meet this Lord Baratheon." Arya admitted grudgingly. The added fiercely, "But I shall never marry him!"

"There you go, saying "_never_" again and you haven't even met him yet." Daenerys chided gently.

"Never! Never! Never!"

Arya even kicked the nearest wall for extra effect. Not hard of course - she wasn't stupid and it wasn't worth risking a broken bone for this.

To Arya's intense annoyance, Daenerys completely ignored her display of spite, instead calmly replying, "Come then good sister. As we walk, I shall tell you what I know of this lord."

Daenerys thought for a moment, pondering on how best to describe the new Lord Baratheon to Arya. The match between these two people was a cause her husband held dear and so Daenerys wanted to encourage the match. Daenerys was unsure what qualities her strange, solitary good sister would admire in a man, so she proceeded warily.

"He is the tallest man in the Great Hall by a considerable way I think…" she began.

Already Arya snorted her disagreement, "Tallest _man_ perhaps. I would wager Brienne of Tarth is taller still!"

"No…" Daenerys replied thoughtfully, "I think he is taller than Brienne although not by much."

Arya raised her eyebrows sceptically. Brienne's size was legendary. It was a common subject of speculation who, in the seven Kingdoms was, or had ever been, taller than the Maid of Tarth. The short list always included The Mountain of course, who was widely acknowledged to be the tallest man who had ever lived (if you excluded the giants), The damned Hound (the mention of whose name inexplicably still bought a tear to Sansa's eye), Hodor (not so widely known, but honourably mentioned by all those who had ever visited Winterfell), The Greatjon and the late King Robert. Some names were often mention and always dismissed – such as The Kingslayer and Stannis Baratheon. Arya had never heard mention of The Bastard Knight in any such discussions, but then, she had to admit, she had only been infrequently to Westeros during the war.

"'Tis true!" Daenerys declared vehemently, rather annoyed that Arya doubted her word. Then, realising arguing would end this conversation before it had even properly begun, The Queen changed her approach, adding sweetly, "As you are to meet him, you will be able to judge for yourself."

"You must proceed with your description then, so I will recognise him when I see him." Arya replied sarcastically,

"So he is taller even than Brienne…" Daenerys paused, looking pointedly at Arya, who had to nod in reluctant acceptance before Daenerys would continue "…he is very broad and I suspect he is very well muscled under his clothes as soldiers tend to be." Daenerys paused again, smiling to herself as she thought on her own new husband's muscular form and how very much it pleased her.

Arya rolled her eyes. It was common knowledge that, despite the marriage between Jon and Daenerys having been of necessity to bring an end to the war, the two of them had found a great match in each other. It was obvious to all that they could not keep their eyes, or their hands, off one another, much to the delight and amusement of their friends.

Recovering herself and flushing slightly, Daenerys started again, "He is dark with the bluest of eyes and has a curving scar under one eye, which prevents him from being truly handsome. He seems thoughtful and does not speak unless he has something of relevance to say; he is hesitant if engaged in conversation by ladies at the dinner table, but has an easy way with him when he speaks to the men. I think you will not be disappointed Arya."

Again Arya rolled her eyes, but made no comment. To even discuss the possibility of this man being half way tolerable would only add fuel to Daenerys' hopes. So he was very tall and dark and Daenerys obviously thought him not to be repulsive, but nothing The Queen could say or do would ever convince Arya to look on him with anything other than distain.

"So he is not hideously gruesome to look at." Arya muttered, remembering King Robert with a haunch of venison in one hand and a goblet of wine in the other, gorged and bloated. No doubt this Lord Baratheon would be a younger version of the old one. Daenerys was no doubt trying to conjure a silk purse out of a sow's ear. Given it was King Robert's bastard they discussed, a boar's ear might be a more appropriate comparison, Arya thought wickedly.

"What of his character?" Arya only asked because she wanted to be able to find fault with this supposed paragon of lordly virtue.

"My own knowledge of the man is limited. Most of what I know comes from Jon..."

"Please tell me of your own thoughts" Arya sighed. She was already well aware of Jon's opinion of the man – the Gods knew he had tried to impress the suitability of the match on her often enough.

Daenerys continued softly, "He has that look about him that they all have. He is weary. He has seen too much and although he would fight to the ends of the earth for our cause, he desires nothing more than peace. He needs a wife Arya, someone to share his burden and his future. He will want sons and he will love the woman who can give him them with as much passion as he fought."

Arya watched in uncomfortable surprise as Daenerys' eyes suddenly pooled with tears. Why was she so upset and why now? It had to be this talk of sons.

Arya had heard whispers that The Queen was barren, but Arya had no time for malicious gossip and nowhere was the gossip more vicious than in The Red Keep. In that respect, at least, nothing had changed. When it came to a Queen's ability to provide an heir, Arya knew the speculation would never end until a son was birthed.

Daenerys turned quickly away. Her voice was thick with emotion as she asked Sam to escort Arya the rest of the way. Without looking at either of them, Daenerys hurried off. The Unsullied guard drew Arya a venomous look, as if it was all her fault. Arya crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at the eunuch, knowing he would never touch her without a direct order and that he would need to get a move on if he was going to catch up with The Queen. The Unsullied narrowed his eyes and curled his lip at her, before turning on his heel and marching after Daenerys.

"Arya! What do you think you are playing at? You shouldn't goad the Unsullied!" Sam yelped "They kill babies and puppies! Think what he might do to you …or…or…_to_ _us_!"

"He hasn't got he balls" Arya sneered, before laughing at her own joke.

As the slave soldier disappeared from view, Arya thought she might as well get this over with. To walk in the other direction now would only delay the inevitable. She was going to have to meet this Bastard Knight sooner or later. It might as well be sooner.

Sam had to trot breathlessly behind her to keep up with the fast pace she set. Suddenly realising she might seem _much _too eager to meet this lord, Arya slowed almost to a standstill, causing Sam to crash into her, with a surprised "Ooof". _Bounce_ into her might be more appropriate, for Arya had never felt a man as soft as Sam, but he was heavy with it and the two of them nearly toppled over under the impact. They both laughed as they flayed around, tying to grab onto each other to stop from toppling over, breaking the tension between them. They continued on, side by side, at a much more companionable pace.

It wasn't long before Arya became aware of Sam fidgeting beside her. She tried to ignore him, but she couldn't ignore the deep, sighing breaths he took, as if readying himself for something. _By the Gods, here we go again,_ she thought. Then came the inevitable "Err…Lady Arya…"

"What is it Sam?" she asked with an ill tempered groan.

"What Queen Daenerys said is true Arya. Lord Baratheon is indeed very large, but he is not as intimidating as he looks once you get to know him."

Arya snorted. Why was Sam bothering her with this? Couldn't he understand that she didn't care? "There's no man scares me Samwell Tarly."

"Well don't you go scaring him neither."

Arya chuckled, quite pleased The Hand of The Kings thought her suitably scary.

Sam blushed, but wasn't going to be put off and continued "By all accounts he's stuck on you and some might say you can be rather…ah…_intimidating_ yourself."

When Arya scowled at him in a way that could only be described as intimidating, Sam added under his breath "not me of course…just some…other folks."

By now they had reached the end of the corridor that led to Jon's solar. Sam was wringing his chubby hands together. He obviously had yet more to say and stopped well before they reached the solar. Arya reluctantly stopped beside him, folding her arms and waiting impatiently for him get to the point.

"What I'm trying to say is….now the war's over, those who have been through the seven hells deserve a little happiness…that's all. You should take it wherever you find it and if Jon thinks you'd both fit together…well, I think you ought to take his advice and at least try it."

"Pah! Marriage advice from two crows!" Arya scoffed sarcastically, rolling her eyes and marching towards the solar door.

She ignored the attempts at cheerful greetings from the two guards. _More bloody crows. _

As she pushed the door open, her first thought was how unusually dark the room was. It took her a moment to realise that the man standing looking out of the window was blocking out most of the light, but she didn't have time to study him as Jon was striding towards her looking even grumpier than usual.

"Good day my King!" she greeted with mock cheerfulness.

He replied with what was almost a snarl. Arya presumed matters were not well today between the King and Queen. First Daenerys was crying and now Jon was growling at her. Perhaps The Queen's moon blood had come again.

Jon cocked his head towards Ghost, although his eyes, dark and furious never left Arya's. The Direwolf was at his side in an instant. Arya half expected Nymeria to follow Jon and Ghost out of the solar, as she had done before, however, she made no move. Nymeria was lying, head resting on her paws, ears alert, all her attention focused on the man at the window. Arya wasn't sure what was worse, being deserted by or being ignored by her wolf.

Arya was barely aware of Jon slamming the door shut, as her gaze followed Nymeria's to the window. She had to admit, she had seldom seen a man taller and, as he was still in full armour, his shoulders looked unfeasibly wide, silhouetted against the light from the window.

The way he stood, hands clasped behind his back, the way he carried himself, the magnificent sword hanging from his hip, _everything_ told her this was a seasoned Knight used to command. To her surprise she felt a wave of excitement. Let me see this Bastard Knight and leave him in no doubt as to _my_ intentions!

"Let us get this over with!" she demanded loudly, addressing his back. She had seized the initiative she thought smugly; attacking and driving forward as she would if she had a sword in her hand.

As he turned sharply towards her, she saw the scar curving under his eye just as Daenerys had described. A glimpse of strong features; a straight nose, prominent cheekbones, a black beard, then his face was in shadow as soon as his back was to the light.

**To be continued…**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Arry & Gendry**

Unable to properly make out his face in the shadows, she concentrated on the rest of him. His armour was black and unembellished; lacking the gaudy prancing stag she had been expected. She had never seen such armour before; the single plate of the chest and the smaller, solid steel components for the shoulders and arms were complimented by hundreds of interlocking lamellar plate pieces to the sides, underarms, joints, anywhere free movement was needed. It would be of tremendous advantage in a close sword fight. She would need to know the source of this fascinating armour.

His hair, black as night, hung to his shoulders. It was scraped back from his forehead, as if wet. As he stalked towards her, she saw it was indeed damp and droplets of water glistened on the shoulders of his armour, as if he had made a very recent effort to make himself presentable. He was anxious to impress. The thought made her smile. She would make it abundantly clear to him that he should not have bothered.

Although she could not see them clearly yet, she was acutely aware of the Knight's eyes raking her up and down. Let him look. She doubted her short hair and men's britches would be much to his liking.

Having taken the measure of the rest of him and as he now stood within touching distance, she finally looked to his eyes. She was as tall as most men and used to looking them directly in the eye, but she had to look up to this one, catching her breath as their eyes met for the first time. His were indeed as blue as the clear sky behind him. She felt an odd tightness in her stomach. She must be hungry, for it could not be anything else.

"So you want to get this over with? I am pleased you are so keen Lady Arya. Should I fetch my cloak and carry you off to the Godswood? Or would you prefer I call for a Septon? Either way, we could be married before 'tis time to eat."

Her first reaction was surprise - how did he know she was hungry? Her second was indignation. _Carry her off to the Godswood?!_ He was laughing at her! There was a devilish twinkle in his eyes as he grinned down at her. She felt herself blushing to the roots of her hair for having blundered into such a trap.

"_I did not mean that!"_

His grin drew her gaze to even, white teeth. As the tip of his tongue licked dry lips, her stomach lurched again. Lack of food, she told herself very firmly.

He was transfixed, gawping at her like a green boy, but he couldn't help himself. His heart was hammering so hard, he thought it might burst from his chest.

With her height and shorn hair, she might have passed for a lanky youth at first glance, but how anyone who looked past her clothes could take her for a man was beyond him. By the Gods, she was beautiful; her skin was golden from the Braavosi sun, a few freckles dusted the bridge of her nose, her lips were full and red and tempting. He could almost taste how sweet her mouth would be. Her face had changed, grown, become a woman's, although he could still see the wild girl he had known when he was a boy.

She was at once achingly familiar and wildly exotic; her smoky eyes were so like Jon's he felt he already knew all of her, while the still lucid part of his brain was trying to tell him he didn't know her at all – that she could be a merciless assassin. But she held no Braavosi sword now and all he could see was the girl he had known, grown into the woman he had dreamed of.

He would have known her anywhere, at anytime, but he saw no hint of recognition in her eyes for him. He was unshaven and filthy from the road. As he dragged his hand over his chin, he realised it was no longer covered with merely stubble. Ten days without shaving had been enough to begin a beard, thick and strong. Perhaps her failure to recognise him was not so unexpected after all.

He could tell she was trying not to stare, to maintain her sense of detachment, but her eyes had raked over him the same way his had to her. The noise of his blood thundering through his veins was so loud that he almost missed her saying "You have not cleaned your armour properly, for there is blood on it."

They were here to discuss marriage and she was scolding him for the state of his armour?!

As she reached out to touch the steel plate, he caught her hand. Far smaller than his, but with long, strong fingers and a palm callused by the hilt of a sword; a woman's hand, but also a warrior's. The first contact his skin on hers sent a stab of lust through him. He wanted more. He wanted his mouth on her and knew that still wouldn't be enough.

"Do not fret lady. 'Tis not mine." His words came out hoarse with lust and longing.

"What makes you think I would care if it was?" She snapped, trying to slide her fingers out of his grasp. He was nowhere near ready to let her go.

Her words were fierce, but he knew they lied. He had felt her shiver as his hand caught hers, heard the hitch in her breath. He saw the blush begin at the top of her tightly buttoned tunic, rise up her graceful neck and warm her cheeks. She was flustered, un-nerved by him and, by the Gods, he liked that. He wanted to make her squirm some more before she realised who he was.

"Your concern is touching. Maybe next time you see blood on my armour, you should flutter your eyelashes and try to look a bit pale, in case it is mine _Milady_."

He knew, from days of old, that she would not like that. Sure enough, he had to bite back another grin as she hissed "Do not call me that!"

"Why not? 'Tis true. You are a lady. I am a lord. Come sit with me, while we discuss _getting this over with_".

"There is nothing to discu…" He didn't let her finish, placing his free hand firmly on her back, deliberately stroking it downwards as he guided her towards the nearest chair. Although she stiffened under his touch, he could feel her heat under the layers of clothing; feel the strength of her glide under his palm as she moved. The scent of her hair, mysterious and surprisingly feminine drifted up towards him, sending his pulse racing. Short as her hair was, he wanted to wrap his fingers in it, bury his face and inhale all of her. His heart threatened to punch a hole in his ribcage.

It had been only a few minutes, but already he had touched her more than anyone else had since she was a child and worse, she was letting him. His hand on her back was hardly an intimate touch, yet it unnerved her much more than any direct assault ever had and as soon as the warmth of it was gone she wanted it back. What in seven hells had come over her?

He was beside her, pulling over a chair and sitting in front of her so his huge, armoured knees touched hers and she could not escape the intensity of his gaze. She had to fight the urge to pull away, to cross her legs, cross her arms, put some barrier between them.

He still had one of her hands in his. How had that happened? She watched, as if frozen, while he entwined their fingers and stroked her palm with his strong, calloused thumb. How could these little touches from him be enough to make her feel so…so flustered? She wasn't a silly ninny like Sansa, who got all excited by the mere presence of a Knight. But his lord was charming, she could not deny it. She imagined this must have been how King Robert was before the drink and the Lannisters turned him sour. But charming or not, she would not yield; she was better, stronger than that.

Why was her breathing fast and shallow? She caught her next breath and held it..._calm as still water_…before slowly exhaling.

"Jon has spoken to you of my…ah…wishes."

Ah yes, his damn wish to wed her. That brought her crashing back to her senses. Those sky blue eyes shone with hope. She had every intention of crushing that hope.

"He has. And I will not marry. _Ever_."

She tried to remove her hand from his again, but he held it firm. He had the strength of an ox.

Arya was already beyond the usual marrying age for high born ladies, yet she claimed she would not marry. He could not understand why. Everyone got married; unless they were afflicted with greyscale or some other pox. Although men might choose a solitary existence as a sellsword, a wandering minstrel or the like, ladies always had to take a husband. There was no other option, unless they wanted to depend on their brother's generosity for ever and live as an old maid. Surely that wasn't Arya? There was a nagging doubt at the back of his mind though. Were the Faceless Men like the men of The Night's Watch – sworn never to marry? Was that why she refused to marry - _ever_? Without a weapon in her hand she was just a girl, albeit it one he had dreamt about for years. He still could not, would not, believe her one of those assassins.

"You must have always known it was inevitable. A lady must always marry to strengthen her family in some way, be it for gold or arms or lands."

"Ahhh…but I am no lady!" she said smugly.

"Oh, but you are _Milady_ and your brother and King has decided you must marry" he shot back, equally smugly.

"If he thinks he can make me, he's a bigger fool than you!"

Lord Baratheon purposely ignored the insult and ploughed on, determined to make her see reason. "You have to marry someone!" He maintained stubbornly, "and why not me? Am I not more desirable than most? I am a lord now. The Storm Lands were wealthy once. With proper stewardship and protection they will be so again."

"Marry you?!" she made a big show of grimacing as if she'd just eaten something nasty and then pretended to gag. "I would sooner marry your…your…"she searched for something suitably insulting "…your horse!"

As her words stung him, an awful thought occurred. He had never contemplated this before in any of his daydreams or grand plans, but perhaps she was one of those strange women who preferred another woman to a husband. Is that why she denied the possibility of ever marrying and insisted on dressing like a man?

"Is it just me you wish to avoid, or is it every man?" he growled, his tone carrying more of a bite than he had intended.

Even as he asked, she narrowed her eyes and glared at him. "I have no need of _anyone_."

It was such a ridiculous thing to say, he threw his head back and laughed. That annoyed her even more, as she ground her teeth and struggled harder to remove her hand from his. He held her tighter. She had to bite her lip to stop from crying out. The frustration was far worse than the pain.

"Surely you jest _Milady_? To claim to need no-one is folly!"

"I certainly have no need of _you!_"

He was taken aback by the coldness of her words, mirrored in the cold, grey steel of her eyes. He released his hold on her hand so quickly it was as if she had burned him. Her chin was raised, her expression defiant and mocking.

She could tell he was angry. It poured off him in waves. She could see the muscles in his jaw pulse as clenched his teeth tightly. Ha! He would never want a wife who would goad him like this!

Arya watched with satisfaction as he closed his eyes and ran a huge, thick fingered hand through his hair, messing with his earlier attempt to make himself presentable. Several thick, black strands fell over his forehead framing his face and stirring something long forgotten in her. She shivered. It was one of those rare times when the earth seemed to shift beneath your feet and you do not know if what you see is a memory or a glimpse of the future.

He took in a deep breath, held it in, blew it out slowly. Then his eyes snapped open, catching her studying him intently. She hastily looked away.

"Enough of these games!" His voice was sharp and hard. She imagined this was the way he barked orders to his men. "Do you not recognise me Arya? Did I mean so little to you?" he demanded.

_Recognise him?_ Now the words were spoken, her having to look up at him, the black slash of his eyebrows as they frowned at her, the scalding anger in his blue eyes began to stir a long buried memory. The way he said her name – she had almost thought he had called her "Arry". An awful realisation was beginning to dawn.

"After everything we went through, do you not know me at all?" he asked, more gently this time. He was finally rewarded with a flicker of recognition.

Arya smoothed her suddenly clammy palms down the front of her britches. He was a man, when she remembered only a boy. But still…

"_Gendry?_" she breathed hoarsely.

"It's been many years since I heard that name, but Aye, 'tis me Milady."

Seven hells it was him. How had she not seen it before_? Because she had not thought on him for all these years. _

This made everything even worse. How had he come to be Jon's most trusted captain? Commander of the infamous Bad Company? Lord Baratheon? And he had just asked her to marry him! How in seven hells had that all happened? He was just a stupid bastard boy.

"How did you get here? How do you come to know Jon? You are a Baratheon? Really?"

He laughed; a deep, melodic sound that she hadn't expected. A man's laugh. They hadn't done much laughing while fleeing from King's Landing, but he'd obviously changed. As had she.

"Still the same Arya. So many questions."

She wanted to tell him she was _not_ the same Arya but her throat was suddenly and inexplicably too dry and tight to allow her to speak.

"I was a Knight of the Hollow Hill when last we parted."

All she could manage was a nod in reply.

"Do you remember the Lannister gold cloaks seeking Gendry Waters from Flea Bottom?"

Again, she could only nod.

"They did not stop in their search and it seemed wise at the time to become someone else."

"Weyland" she managed to mutter.

Again he laughed "Aye, amongst others; The Smith, The Black Knight and now…" he paused as if for effect. She could hear the pride in his voice and see his new found arrogance in the way he leaned further in towards her and grinned as he added triumphantly, "…Lord Baratheon of Storm's End."

He was looking at her in that way again that made her shiver. She felt uncomfortable, out of her depth and she didn't like that. She didn't like that at all. She was always in control; _calm as still water_. Yet something was not right, why had Jon not told her?

"Why has Jon been demanding I marry some lord I have never met before?"

He looked uncomfortable for the first time. Ah, she had landed a well aimed blow!

"Jon does not know we are already acquainted, does he?" Arya pressed.

"No." Gendry admitted, reluctantly.

"Why would you deny we were old travelling companions…friends?"

"Aye, friends" he sighed in a way that made it sound like 'friends' wasn't something he particularly relished.

For the first time he avoided her eyes. In a deep, gruff voice that seemed to be not as certain as it had been before, he said, "I let you leave and I could not find you again. I failed you and I was unsure whether you would want to see me again."

So this was the reason. He was ashamed, or at least embarrassed. Why need he be? She had always assumed Beric and the rest of The Brotherhood had searched for her, but The Hound had been too clever by far and then there had been the battle at the Twins. Even Brienne of Tarth could not have found her then. Gendry tortured himself for naught. It was all so long ago and she had not allowed herself to think on it since.

"It makes no matter now." She shrugged.

"I am relieved you are not bearing a grudge." He smiled again and he did, truly, look relieved. "I have thought about you always Arya and I hope…that is…I want…"

She knew what he wanted and she did not want to hear it from him. Maybe she was made of ice after all. She had not thought on him in years. To silence him, she lifted her hand and traced her finger tip along the scar that cut below his left eye. To her surprise he flinched, although her touch had been gentle.

"You have changed so much Gendry Waters. How did you get that scar?"

She had been wondering since she first laid eyes on him.

He stiffened. "A woman," he said after a pause.

It was no lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. Despite the tenderness of her touch, he could not afford to let this line of conversation continue. She had arched one eyebrow in interest and was waiting expectantly for him to say more on it. He needed a diversion. He had seen the glint of steel in her boot as soon as he had sat in front of her. Needle was still to her hand, just as it always had been.

He untwined his fingers from hers and reached up to tuck a stray curl of dark hair behind her ear. It was an old sword fighter's trick – _distract and disarm_. He let the fingers of his left hand brush against her cheek, smiling as he heard her catch her breath and saw her eyes flicker shut momentarily. Despite her cold words, the ice lady was flesh and blood after all. If he took her in his arms now, would she melt against him like warm honey?

He stroked his thumb gently from her ear to the corner of her mouth, while he dipped his right hand into her boot and withdrew the knife, holding it up triumphantly before she even realised what he had done.

"_Stick 'em with the pointy end Arya!"_

He chuckled as he watched first surprise, then disbelief and finally anger cross her face.

She made a grab for her blade, but he had anticipated that. He held it up high and behind, well out of her reach.

"Give…me…my…Needle…back" she gritted out through clenched teeth.

"I will, in return for a kiss" he teased, hoping he might salvage something from the meeting yet. Aye, a kiss from a riled Lady Arya would do very nicely. She looked even more appealing when her blood was up, flushed and eyes flashing with indignation.

Arya was furious. She would have kicked him, but he wore full armour and she would have only broken her foot. How _dare_ he trick her like that and, like a silly little fool, she had fallen for it. What would the Kindly Man make of her weakness? She hadn't even wanted Gendry to kiss her and yet she had closed her eyes for a moment and given him his opportunity to disarm and humiliate her. If she was ever going to kiss anyone, it would absolutely, never, ever be _him_.

"You have not changed at all! I always knew you were stupid and a bastard! Now I know you are a thief too! I am glad I had not thought on you in five years. And I do not want to have to think on you in the next five!"

The look of shock on his face as her words stung him only drove her on, "And you stink!" she spat, for good measure.

He stood up quickly, towering over her and slammed Needle flat onto the nearest table with the palm of his hand. His blue eyes had turned to frost.

"And I had forgotten that you never had any manners or a sense of humour!"

Ignoring him, she quickly grabbed Needle, secreting it safely back in her boot.

He had had enough. Her scorn had turned the blood in his veins to ice. The ever-present bastard's voice in his head mocked him – _you expected her to just fall into your arms? And she hasn't thought about you in years you fool. She is a highborn lady, sister to the King, and you will always be a bastard, no matter how high you think you have climbed_.

This was certainly not how he had imagined their reunion ending, but then he was a fool right enough.

He wasn't even aware of Nymeria at his side until he attempted to take a step towards the door and his leg was met by an immoveable object. The Direwolf rubbed her flank against the armour of his thigh and hip. No doubt it provided a good, hard scratching surface. His fingers automatically trailed through the warm fur. As Nymeria growled contentedly, he felt the anger that had been pouring off him moments ago dissipate.

His thoughts still churned as he absentmindedly scratched behind the wolf's ear and was again rewarded with that almost purr of satisfaction. Why could Arya not react to him that way? He had almost thought he had her when he caressed her cheek. She had momentarily lost control and relaxed into him, closing her eyes and uttering a faint, but utterly beguiling, sigh. But then he had ruined it all by taking Needle from her. He realised with a sudden rush of guilt that he had shamed the Master Swordsman, perhaps even shamed a Faceless Man. He had managed to trick her and take her blade from her easily. 'Twould be a hard lesson for her as he had used her emotions against her.

_Distract and disarm. _He had momentarily forgotten the last, and most important, part of that triangle -_ Destroy_.

_Distract. Disarm. Destroy. _

He had certainly destroyed any affection she might have had for him.

He suddenly ached with tiredness and regret. He made a move again for the door. Yet again Nymeria was in his way, preventing his escape. The damned wolf had more sense than he did. He could not leave it like this.

"I apologise Milady, it was a poor jape. Forgive me." He bowed stiffly to Arya.

She seemed in no mood for an apology, keeping herself turned away from him, her hands balled into angry fists. He supposed anger was better than tears. He wondered if she ever let herself cry.

While their meeting has not gone as he had hoped, there was no doubting the strength of his feeling for her. These years apart had only served to cement his resolve. There was no one for him but her and whether she knew it or not, she wanted him too. He had seen a glimpse of desire when his hand had caressed her face. But then he had destroyed it before it had properly begun. Perhaps she had never had a man touch her like that before? She dressed like no lady and invited no attention from the opposite sex; in fact she actively discouraged it. It began to dawn on him that she had most likely never even been kissed before. Perhaps what he had done in jest, meant rather more to her than he thought.

In one matter however, she was correct; he undoubtedly did stink like a pig. He would rid himself of his armour and the dirt of the road and ponder his battle plan, for he had no doubt he would be a battle to win her hand. This was one battle he would not allow himself to loose.

"Until we meet again Milady" He said tightly, turning on is heel.

Finally Nymeria let him go. He stomped out of the Solar before she had a chance to call him _stupid_, _bastard_ or _thief_ again.

-o-

Arya was seething with anger, but she didn't know if it should be directed at him, or at herself. She found herself muttering "_stupid bullheaded bastard boy_" under her breath as she and Nymeria watched him stalk away. Those words stirred another, long forgotten, memory. She was back at The Peach. She was a child again and he was still just a boy - not the grown man who had asked for a kiss mere moments ago.

She had called him those names before when he protected her from a drunken letch. He had tried to help her then and all she had done was scoff at him for pretending to be her brother when she should have thanked him. He had been furious. During all these years, she had never given a thought as to why it had riled him so. She had never understood until now.

Long since buried, his words now came back to haunt her,

_"I'm too bloody lowborn to be kin to M'lady high."_

She felt ill. He was raised as high as her now. If she was a true friend, would she not have congratulated him on claiming his father's name and his succession to the Lordship of the Stormlands - just reward for the part he played in her brother's victory?

Seven hells – even Nymeria was looking at her reproachfully. Her Direwolf had never let anyone touch her like that before and then Nymeria had blocked his passage, as if she hadn't wanted to let him go. His bloody charm obviously worked on Direwolves too.

Perhaps Daenerys and Sam were right. She had to marry someone if she wanted to stay here; Jon had made that plain enough. Gendry had tried to help her again today by offering to marry her and what had she just done? Poured scorn on his offer, scoffed at him at every opportunity and pointed out his failings.

She felt ashamed. He was as much of a friend as she had ever had. He had offered for her hand and she had laughed in his face. She almost ran after him to beg his forgiveness, but her pride held her back. She was a lone wolf and a wolf would not beg. Best to let both of their bloods cool now, as one of them might do or say something more that they regretted. From the pounding of her heart and the tightness in her chest, she suspected it may be her.

Arya let him go and she couldn't have said how much time passed before she walked out of the solar, still utterly distracted by what had happened between them.

She was immediately confronted by a wall of black crows. There were four of them now; perhaps the bloody things were breeding. Her eyes flicked to their hands, resting on the hilts of their swords. What had happened to their annoyingly cheery greetings?

"Let me by." She demanded.

The biggest crow shook his head. "We are to escort you back to your chambers Lady Arya."

"You will do no such thing. I go where I please."

"No longer. By order of King Jon."

Black gloved hands tightened on sword hilts. The big one with the gruff voice continued, "You are to stay in your chambers until meal time when your presence is requested in the Great Hall. If you refuse to attend, you are to eat alone in your chambers and remain there until King Jon attends you on the morrow."

So Jon was tightening the screws. If she would not co-operate, he would deny her freedom. She could not, would not tolerate that.

"You may escort me to Lady Sansa's chambers instead."

The four of them looked at each other, unsure. Bloody crows. They were prepared to die for a dream, but confront them with anything to do with ladies and they crumbled.

"Unless King Jon expects me to attend dinner in britches, which we all know he does not, I will need to borrow a dress."

She watched in smug satisfaction as the crows reluctantly acquiesced to her demand.

Jon had made the first mistake in this battle of wills. He had underestimated his opponent.

**Coming next Friday…Dresses and duels.**

**Hope you enjoyed that. Am I forgiven for the previous cliff-hanger? **


	5. Chapter 5 - Two sisters, two dresses

**Chapter 5**

**Two sisters, two dresses.**

To say Sansa was surprised to see Arya was understatement. That she was flanked by two scowling crows was even more of a surprise.

"Right boys. You can wait out here…unless you fancy helping me try on dresses?!"

Arya pushed past them into Sansa's chamber, not in least surprised that the crows seemed absolutely dumbstruck by Sansa's beauty. It had always been the way.

Even Arya had to admit her sister looked particularly stunning at that moment, having been caught unawares by their visit. Her auburn hair, normally so carefully and tightly braided, cascaded loosely around her shoulders, falling to her breasts in a shimmering curtain of burnished copper. Her simple green dress, devoid of all the decoration expected at court, only served to emphasise her perfect figure; full breasts, slim waist and curving hips.

As Arya slammed the door shut in the crow's faces, she suspected there was a real danger of their lolling tongues becoming trapped in the door.

"Dear sister, I admit I am surprised to see you here."

Arya threw herself in the nearest chair. "And I admit I am surprised to be here. Particularly as 'tis to borrow a dress."

"A dress?"

"A dress." Arya confirmed coolly, as if borrowing a dress from her sister was an everyday occurrence.

Arya picked up an apple from the fruit basket on the table and crunched into it. Strange, she had thought herself so hungry earlier, when in Jon's solar, but now she had no appetite at all. She tossed the apple back into the bowl, never minding the fact that a bite was out of it. Despite the famine Jon insisted was looming over them all, there was a plentiful supply of food in The Red Keep.

"Of course you may borrow a dress. You may have any one you wish. But why?"

"Jon has sent two crows to watch me. He's decided that I can't leave my chambers unless 'tis to attend his bloody feast."

"And you need a dress to attend the feast?"

"Correct."

"But, you have never bothered attending dinner in the Great Hall before. Why now?"

"Because I could have gone before if I'd wanted and I didn't. Now he tells me I have to stay in my chambers, so now I want to go."

"Oh, I see," Sansa muttered. In truth, she did not see at all. It sounded as if her sister was simply being difficult, but Sansa had given up trying to understand the whys and wherefores of her little sister's contrary behaviour when they were children. Sansa had found it easier just to pretend to understand then and she saw no reason to try to work out what was going on in Arya's head now.

"By the Gods, your room smells nice," Arya sniffed, sitting up from her slouch and looking around. When she looked to the window, the reason was obvious. Dozen of beautiful plants and cut flowers in a variety of posts and vases, each one more beautifully decorated than the last, filled the sills and covered the floor by the windows. It truly was an indoor garden.

Arya hopped up to admire them more closely. She could hardly put a name to any of them, but as neither Winterfell nor Braavos was renowned for its produce, 'twas hardly surprising. She did recognise the tiny purple blossoms on wild mountain thyme from The North and large white lilies from warmer climes. There were miniature sculpted trees with leaves of the glossiest green, every colour of rose imaginable and at least a dozen other varieties of flowers that Arya couldn't begin to name.

As Arya trailed her fingers over the blooms, different fragrances drifted up towards her. She thought each one more wonderful than the last.

"I had no idea you were a gardener," Arya murmured, feeling rather overawed. Was there no end to Sansa's accomplishments?

"Alas, I can take no credit for this," Sansa said with a wistful smile, "they are all gifts from Highgarden."

Ah! Now Arya was beginning to understand. "A tribute from a certain Tyrell Lord perhaps?"

Sansa blushed. "Lord Willas says he wishes me to have something beautiful to look at."

Arya rolled her eyes. She had no doubt it was Willas Tyrell who wished to have something beautiful of his own to look at. _Someone_ beautiful, if truth be told. Arya didn't want to know any more.

"So I need a dress..."

"Of course. You may take your pick." Sansa opened one of her closet doors to reveal a row of dresses, their colours almost as varied as those of the flowers at her window. "We are not dissimilar in height and I can easily make any adjustments you wish."

"I shall wish none. I don't care what it looks like. I just need a dress. Any dress."

Sansa sighed. She wasn't going to argue. "Then which do you prefer?" she asked, pulling out a scarlet one. It was of the finest silk and would suit Arya's dark colouring perfectly. Sansa had never worn it. The red clashed with her hair, but if truth be told, that was not the reason it had been ignored. It had been a gift from a terrible man. A man she would rather never think on again. She should have burned the dress years before, but it was far too fine to destroy, unlike the man whose gift it had been.

"Urgh. No." Arya wrinkled her nose and pulled a face. "I shall have the grey one."

Sansa shook her head. They grey was a favourite of Sansa's as it glinted like steel against the warm auburn of her hair. On Arya, with her dark hair and grey eyes, it would look drab and plain.

"I think you should try the red sister. It will suit you so much better and…"

"The grey."

Again, Sansa could not be bothered to argue. With a sigh of resignation, she took the grey dress from her closet.

Arya already had her back turned towards Sansa, her tunic off and was removing her undershirt. Sansa looked up just in time to see layers and layers of white cloth tightly bound around Arya's torso, before they disappeared under the dress. After a bit of wriggling, Arya turned around triumphantly. "There, 'tis fine."

'Twas anything but fine. As Sansa had suspected, the dress drained every bit of colour from her sister. If Arya stood still in front of a grey stone wall, she might disappear altogether. But Sansa did not let her true thoughts show on her face. She had spent her life hiding everything inside. So much so, that now she sometimes didn't know if what she really thought was any different than the bland platitudes and half truths that spilled so easily from her mouth.

"It will do, I suppose. Come here so I can adjust the bodice and lace you up."

Arya, being obliging for once, walked over with the most unladylike gait. Sansa suspected her sister was putting on an act especially to irritate her, as Arya usually moved with the easy grace of a cat.

"A lady should glide when she walks Arya, not roll like a sailor."

"Ha! But I am no lady…" Arya started to say, then changing her mind, muttered "…oh never mind." It seemed to Sansa there was another part of that conversation she had missed.

"It might help if you take off your britches and boots off."

"Why?" Arya asked, surprised, "No-one can see them under this."

"But…oh…never mind. Do what you like! You always did."

"I did not!"

"Did so!"

Arya gritted her teeth and snarled at Sansa. Sansa placed her elegant hands on her perfectly curved hips and tossed her long, auburn hair so it settled beautifully over one shoulder. Then she looked disdainfully at her younger sister.

"Why don't you just throw another orange at my face and be done with it? Be sure to give me my dress back first though!"

Arya was sorely tempted to do just that, but she needed the bloody dress if she wanted to thwart Jon and she could think of nowhere else to get another at such short notice. She certainly didn't want to have to go to a dress shop. Seven hells! She would rather chew off her own hand!

"All right. Truce." Arya muttered reluctantly. "But only because I need the dress."

"Take the stupid dress. You look awful in it. It doesn't fit, the colour doesn't suit you at all and that hideous binding you are wearing is poking out the top. I don't know what you think you are doing, but you will impress no-one in that!"

"Who says I want to impress anyone?! I just need a dress to wear to the bloody feast. Nobody will care what I look like and even if they did _I wouldn't care!_"

"Suit yourself then, for you will suit no-one else!"

"Fine!" Arya yelled.

"'Tis fine for me then too!" Sansa yelled back.

There was a tentative knock at the door. Both sisters turned in unison to the door and yelled "What?!" at exactly the same time. They might have found it funny if they had not both been so angry.

"Err…ladies…is all well?" The biggest crow looked tentatively around the side of the door, as if he were using it as a shield. Perhaps he had heard the comment about oranges being thrown and suspected he might be the target for the next one.

"Yes it is!" Arya snapped first. "What's your name crow?"

"Grenn…my…ah…ladies."

"Seeing as you are here Grenn, fasten this dress up for me." Arya turned her back to the door, presenting him with the unlaced dress and glaring directly at Sansa, daring her to demand the return of the dress now.

The crow looked as if he had been asked to drown his own Grandmother.

"Hurry up man. What are you waiting for?" Arya snapped over her shoulder.

The crow stumbled in. He looked from Lady Sansa to the laces and back to Lady Sansa, his eyes wide and pleading.

"Well, I'm not helping her!" Sansa said, with a determined shake of her auburn hair.

Grenn slowly and very reluctantly took the laces in his hands. His adam's apple bobbed repeatedly as he swallowed, looked at the laces in his shovel hands and swallowed again.

"Forgive me ladies." He muttered, letting the laces slip through his fingers, "But I know not how. I have never…I have never…"

"Oooooh!" Arya stamped her foot in frustration. "Bloody crows. We know you have never had a woman, but surely you must have laced your mother's or your sister's or someone's dress before?!"

The bewildered crow shook his head miserably.

"Seven buggering hells. Away with you then!"

Grenn looked as if he had never been so pleased to be ordered out of a room in his life.

Arya sighed deeply. Then, fixing a forced, contrite smile on her face pleaded, "Please will you help me sister?"

"Only if you try the red dress on first sister." Sansa answered sweetly.

"Fine" Arya muttered through gritted teeth.

So the grey dress was discarded and the red pulled over Arya's head. Sansa dragged her sister by the hand over to a full length mirror.

"Stand here while I lace you and we can talk as sisters should."

Arya groaned and rolled her eyes.

"See Arya, you are the bigger sister now," Sansa smiled, standing behind her sister. 'Twas true, although the difference was not much, "and you could be very beautiful if you had a care."

Facing the mirror, Arya pulled the most grotesque face she could. Sansa, catching sight of Arya's reflection, pulled the laces as hard as she could, making Arya yelp in pain.

"Behave sweet sister, or I shall leave you in a predicament." Sansa tugged again.

"Seven hells, how do you breath?" Arya gasped.

"These dresses are not made for sword fighting or chasing cats Arya."

_Tug. Yelp._

"They are made for showing your figure, poise and elegance. And this would fit much better if you removed that ugly binding."

"I won't."

"Then this will need to be even tighter."

_An even harder tug. A louder yelp._

"See Arya how it shapes your waist?"

Arya did see, but she wasn't going to admit it.

"See how the scarlet silk brings out the red of your lips, makes your eyes look bright and your hair shine?" Sansa smiled approvingly.

The dress was pretty. Pity about the rest Arya though, self consciously running a hand through her unbrushed hair.

"Your hair is shorter at one side than the other sister." Sansa observed wryly.

Arya had never noticed before, but now Sansa pointed it out, 'twas obvious. Arya cut it herself, but only when it got in her eyes and annoyed her too much.

"Will you let me fix it for you? And I could apply a little kohl to your eyes and stain to your lips. You would have the men falling at your feet."

Arya narrowed her eyes at Sansa in the mirror, certain her sister was going to start laughing at the joke any second, only she didn't. Instead Sansa met Arya's eyes in the mirror. She looked serious, genuine, as if she had truly meant every word. That only made Arya feel more uncomfortable. She would much prefer that Sansa made jokes and teased her about her appearance as she used to, rather than pretend her plain little sister could ever be anything other than Arya horseface.

"The only men I want falling at my feet are the ones who have felt the sharp end of my sword." Arya muttered.

"Not even one recently made lord, who I hear has offered for your hand?" Sansa probed, her blue eyes studying Arya intently.

"Certainly not! Never! None of them and certainly not him!"

"'Tis a pity then, as I hear he is quite a catch and our cousin desires it." Sansa sighed wistfully, amused by the vehemence of Arya's denial.

"Our cousin?" Arya wondered.

"King Jon."

"He is our brother! 'Tis the way we were raised and he will always be brother to my mind."

"You always were his favourite."

"Pah! Well it does not seem so now. He is adamant that I wed one of his lords."

"You should be grateful if he has given you a choice Arya." Sansa said with a sorrowful smile.

Before she saw her sister's pained expression, Arya had never given a second thought as to what Jon had asked of Sansa.

"Is he forcing you into marriage too?" Arya demanded, full of righteous indignation on Sansa's behalf.

"Not yet, but it will come." Sansa sighed wearily, "I have been traded by men all my life, 'twould be no different now."

"But what of this Lord Tyrell who showers you with such pretty flowers?"

"He is all that stands between King's Landing and starvation Arya. Jon has bid me do anything that needs be done in order to keep Willas here and keep the supply carts rolling from Highgarden."

"Anything." Arya echoed, wondering exactly what Jon had meant by that.

"Aye. _Anything_." Sansa repeated with a sad, wise smile.

Still looking in the mirror, Arya watched Sansa's hand reach for hers. Arya felt the softest fingers brush against hers before Sansa squeezed her hand gently.

"I am glad you are returned Arya, for I have felt so adrift."

Never had they felt closer. _Adrift_. Arya knew exactly what her sister meant; anchorless, rootless, moving but with no purpose. The only purpose Arya had for all these years was revenge. The Kindly Man expected her to give up the past, but she hadn't, she couldn't. She had held her ever present, burning need for revenge tightly, deep inside herself. All Arya had was her revenge. She wondered what Sansa had, as she squeezed her sister's hand in return.

Sansa's eyes shone with unshed tears. "Do you think we shall ever see Winterfell again?" Sansa whispered, her voice thick with longing.

"Yes." Said Arya firmly. "We shall. Together." And as easily as that, a promise was made and a bond at last formed between them.

"Then I shall pray it will come soon." Sansa said, with a faint smile, "And meantime sister, let me help you. We have our own battles to fight. We may not fight out there on the battlefield as the men do, but we fight all the same. Now let me look at your hair…"

At that moment, Arya could have refused her sister nothing. She did not even complain when Sansa sent one of the crows to call for a bath.

While they waited on the maids to bring buckets of steaming water to fill the metal bath, Sansa made Arya strip off her boots and britches and layers of bandages.

Generally, Arya avoided looking in mirrors. To see herself wear another face was a shocking thing she had never become used to. Sometimes she would forget, for she always felt the same inside. Then a careless glance in a mirror, a refection of an alien face staring back, was enough to send her mind spinning. So Arya avoided mirrors, but Sansa had her standing naked in front of a full length one now.

Sansa had helped unravel yard after yard of material from Arya's torso, shaking her head at the read welts on Arya's skin left from the tight bandages.

Arya found the crisscross pattern of angry marks reflected in the mirror just as unsettling as seeing a stranger's face. She self consciously rubbed at her skin to force blood back into the bound areas.

"Are you so determined to deny you are a woman that you torment your flesh?" Sansa asked reproachfully. "We woman are made to suffer enough without inflicting it upon ourselves."

Arya did not want to look in the mirror any more, for she did not like what she saw. She liked the hard, lean parts of her body and not the soft, vulnerable parts. As soon as the bath was ready, she all but jumped in.

Sansa insisted upon sprinkling the steaming hot water with a variety of fresh rose petals from her window. Arya had to admit it was wonderfully relaxing soaking in the tub, enveloped in a cloud of rose scented steam, while Sansa ran her hands through her hair, gently twisting it this way and that.

"I wish we had been closer when we were younger Arya. All I remember of us is shouting and arguing and over such silly things."

"Well, they didn't seem silly at the time" Arya muttered, closing her eyes, distantly recalling last time they had argued; over Mycah and Joffrey and Nymeria's sister Lady. If it had not been the last time, it had certainly been the worst. Unbidden, an image of Mycah appeared behind her eyelids. He was young still and innocent in her mind. Frozen in time, not grown older and bitter like the rest of them.

Arya did not let herself think of him often. When she did, like now, a lump came to her throat and she fought it down. Faceless men were not prey to the emotions of the flesh that weakened lesser mortals. She was stone, she was blood of the wolf, assassin, faceless and she could sell her skills to whomever paid most. Yet, despite all her training and all her hardness, she could have cried when she remembered Mycah, who had died only because he was her friend.

Her work was not yet done. The Hound had to pay. Arya would have her vengeance. Every name on her list obliterated from the face of the earth. Nothing and no-one would prevent her or divert her from her task.

Arya listened to Sansa hum beside her and felt her sister's gentle fingers in her hair. For a long time Arya had been angry at Sansa, she had been angry at everyone. But it had not been Sansa who had ridden down an unarmed boy. Sandor Clegane would pay the debt in kind and soon.

Arya's reverie was interrupted by Sansa's happy chattering, "In Volantis 'tis too hot for the women to wear their hair long and I have seen women from there with hair cut short in an attractive way. I would do that for you sister."

Arya began to half heartedly protest, but Sansa pointed out that at least she would not leave it lopsided. Arya reluctantly agreed. It did not matter much. Nothing did until her task was done, her revenge complete..

Sansa bid her hang her head over the back of the bath as she got to work with small, sharp scissors. Arya had never allowed herself to suffer anything like this since Acorn Hall when that lady…Smallwood wasn't it? had washed and dressed her and cut her hair. Arya had been forced to wear Lady Smallwood's daughter's dress. The girl had been sent away to wait out the war with some Septa. Arya had even been given the dead son's clothes to wear as they left. Arya found herself wondering if Lady Smallwood's daughter had survived the war and what had become of the Lady herself. Arya hoped she was reunited with her daughter and happy, for Lady Smallwood had been kind. A smile came unexpectedly to her lips.

The Brotherhood had been welcomed warmly at Acorn Hall as Lady Smallwood had once been a lover of Tom Sevenstrings. Arya had a much better idea now of what that entailed than she had at the time and wondered if Lady Smallwood and Tom had renewed their acquaintance that night, while her husband was away fighting. Arya supposed she would never know and she had no idea why it bothered her now.

'Twas the tune Sansa hummed as her deft fingers stroked and worked on her hair, that made Arya think of Tom Sevenstrings and the rest of The Brotherhood. And that brought her thoughts back to Gendry. He had changed so much, 'twas no wonder she had not recognised him. She had told him he smelled back then too, but it hadn't stopped her from rolling around on the floor of the Acorn Hall smithy with him as he tried to tickle her. She screwed her eyes tight shut, grimacing at the memory. Why did it make her squirm now? The uncomfortable truth was that she would not mind finding out how it would be to roll around the floor with him now. She could easily bring to mind the feel the warm of his hand on her back, stroking her cheek, the intensity of his stare that could make her blood run both hot and cold at the same time. It would not be so hard to give her body to a man like that. But he wanted a wife and she could not give him that.

"What is that tune you hum?" Arya asked her sister, in order to distract herself from thoughts she could not allow herself to have about Gendry.

"I forget the name, but it is a sad tale of a lord and his lady. He wants to keep her safe and warm and guard her with his sword, but she wants no such thing and says she would rather sleep in the forest or some equally awful place than in his featherbed. 'Tis much too romantic for you Arya. You wouldn't like it at all."

"I wouldn't like it at all." Arya repeated automatically, before Sansa pushed her head forward and promptly poured a jug of cold water over it.

Arya cursed with the shock of it, then reached up to feel how much of her hair had been taken off, but Sansa squealed "Stop!" Arya hovered her hand in mid air.

"Oh, don't touch it yet Arya. Please let me finish it all and then we can have a grand unveiling!" Sansa clapped her hands together in delight. Arya was too far down the road to retreat now. She might as well give in with good grace.

As Arya towelled herself dry, Sansa held up and cast aside various small clothes and shifts and petticoats until she found a combination to her liking. Then she made Arya put it all on. Arya realised with some amusement that she was being used as a full size doll by her sister to be dressed and decorated in accordance with Sansa's wishes. For the decoration was next.

She was led to chair away from the mirror and sat down in her small clothes of the finest silk, while Sansa applied creams and potions to her face. Everything had an exotic sounding name that Arya never bothered to listen to. However it seemed to make Sansa happy to name and explain the use of everything. Arya got the distinct impression that Sansa was expecting her to pay attention and memorise the names and uses of these potions. Arya had no intention of doing so, but she would not tell her sister that. To do so would only start another argument.

Whenever Arya opened her mouth to try and protest that it was too much, there was no point and she would be taking it all off again anyway, she was silenced by Sansa's tut-tuts and complaints that all her good work would be undone if Arya did not sit still.

Finally, just as Arya was nodding off to sleep, Sansa proclaimed her 'done'.

Then came the dress. Arya knew Sansa would insist on the red, but she put up a final, half hearted argument for the grey anyway. As expected, she lost that argument.

The laces of the red dress were tied tightly. A ruby ring was forced onto Arya's finger, and her hair was brushed and smoothed.

Sansa finally presented her sister to the mirror with a flourish and an excited "Tah-dah!"

For perhaps the first time in her life, Arya was lost for words.

**Once again I was too ambitious with what I thought I could accomplish in a week, particularly as this was a short week, the previous chapter taking me until last Sunday to finish. So I am afraid you will just have to wait until next Friday to find out what Gendry thinks of Sansa's efforts. I'll make sure it is worth waiting for!**


	6. Chapter 6 - Everything changes

**Chapter 6**

**Everything changes.**

Arya had never felt so irritated by so many people, in such a short space of time and for such a stupid reason in all her life.

She was lined up with a gaggle of other ladies, waiting to make a grand entrance to The Great Hall. As much as she tried to ignore their excited twittering, these shrill ladies invaded her thoughts, setting her teeth on edge and shredding her already thinly stretched patience. Every time she closed her eyes, took a breath and started reciting _Swift as a deer, quiet as a shadow… _she would hear the word 'Baratheon' mentioned and then some idiot female would giggle. Arya would curse under her breath and have to begin again.

Daenerys and Sansa had tried to engage her in conversation, but she'd had enough talk of dresses and lords for today. Indeed, with every passing minute, she was regretting having let Sansa talk her into any of this.

Her own image staring back at her from Sansa's mirror still burned behind her eyelids. To her surprise, her sister had cut her hair even shorter, but in the sleek Volantis style. Sansa had darkened her eyelids and lashes with kohl. A hint of red salve on her lips and cheeks made her look flushed. And then there was that red dress.

Arya had spent years trying to be invisible, to disappear, in order to strike when least expected. But not now. There was only one reason to wear a dress like this – to attract attention. Male attention. It was the most uncomfortable of feelings. Why could Sansa not have let her wear the grey dress? Why could she not have been content to stay in her room?

She was here now and she had to deal with it. As Arya had been trained to do, she immediately assessed and dismissed all of the assembled ladies as no threat at all. All except one; the lady immediately to her left. She was silent, but had cunning brown eyes that watched everything. Her clothes and jewels proclaimed her to be a lady of the highest order. Older than both Sansa and The Queen, she exuded a confidence and sophistication that left Arya in doubt this lady considered herself to be superior to them all.

To Arya's relief, she made no attempt to engage in conversation, seeming content to watch and asses everyone else in the line as Arya had done.

Finally, Lord Varys gave the order to go. The door to the Great Hall was opened. Daenerys stepped through and the parade began.

Queen Daenerys was, naturally, first, followed by Sansa and Arya as 'sisters' to King Jon. The red dress was tight and made it difficult to breathe, much less walk. Arya felt ridiculously exposed, although, in truth, more of her was covered than usual. The hem of the dress reached to her toes and the sleeves to her wrists, but it was her chest that was bare to the world, or at least that's what it felt like. Bits of her that had never seen the light of day before were pushed up and on show in a way that made Arya blush.

Worryingly, Sansa's dress fitted rather too well. Arya told herself it was because her shoulders were wider, her back broader. She had never given her breasts much thought before, except to bind them and curse that she had them at all. Now, every time she looked down, she could think of little else. She hoped 'twould be only her thinking like that tonight.

As the Ladies made their way into The Great Hall, the men who had been there for some time already, stood up, as was custom.

Although Arya felt a thousand pairs of eyes on her, she knew there was one blue set that followed her every move. She had never been more certain of anything in her life. Arya fought the urge to look up, knowing her eyes would find his. She would not do it. Besides, if she didn't keep her eyes fixed on her feet, she would no doubt step on the hem of her own dress, or worse Sansa's. That would be typical; she would trip and fall flat on her face in this stupid dress right in front of everyone. She did however manage to look up long enough to scowl and stick her tongue out at Jon. He only looked amused by it, raising one eyebrow at her, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Seven hells, but he was infuriating!

Then it happened.

Daenerys stopped beside Jon. Sansa took a few steps further and stopped between Aegon and another lord. Then there was Gendry, his hand on the back of the empty chair Arya was to sit on. He was clean shaven and much more the boy again she had known, grinning expectantly towards her. His eyes raked over her and her stupid red dress, from the top of her head to the tip of her toes and back again. 'Twas obvious he liked what he saw.

She looked from his face, to his hand resting on the back of her chair. It was such a simple gesture but it said _everything_. Of possession. She would sit beside him and he would pour her wine. His hand would brush against hers, accidentally at first, but then he would become bolder and take her hand in his. Perhaps he would make her laugh, his blue eyes twinkling as they shared some tale from their past and her blood would run hot and cold all at the same time. He would compliment her on her hair as an excuse to touch it, stroke her face and she would close her eyes again and imagine where it might end. But she knew where it would end. She knew what he wanted and she could not give it to him. She could not do it. How could she think of the future when the past was not laid to rest?

"I cannot sit there."

Arya grabbed the back of the chair nearest to her as a drowning man might grab at a rope. The sophisticated lady behind, the one with the cunning eyes, bumped into her, muttering a sailor's curse under her breath.

Varys glared at Arya and jabbed a fat finger towards the chair claimed by Gendry's hand. She shook her head and turned away, catching the perplexed and then annoyed look on Gendry's face as she did. The lady with the cunning brown eyes was ushered forwards to the empty seat. Arya was aware of Gendry nodding politely to the lady, but his reproachful eyes remained fixed on her.

Arya found herself clutching the back of the chair between Sam and Tyrion Lannister, who were currently exchanging puzzled glances.

"'Tis an unexpected pleasure Lady Stark." Tyrion bowed low. Arya noticed he was standing on a box, for otherwise he would not have been able to see over the table. A plump cushion was placed on his chair, ready to raise his golden Lannister arse to an acceptable height.

"You're not supposed to be sitting here!" Sam muttered out of the side of his mouth. "We're supposed to get Margaery Tyrell and you're supposed to sit beside you-know-who."

"No I do not know who and I am perfectly happy here, thank you Master Hand." Arya said, trying to sound regal and above reproach like Queen Daenerys.

Tyrion winked at Sam. "I am sure Sam and I are safer with you Lady Arya. Perhaps I should be more specific… _our cocks_ need no longer fear for their safety tonight."

"Our cocks might be safe Tyrion, but I fear our heads are in mortal danger of losing our bodies courtesy of Lord Baratheon's sword."

Tyrion and Arya followed Sam's gaze. Sure enough, if looks could kill, Sam and Tyrion would already be welcomed into The Stranger's arms.

"What business is it of his where I sit?" Arya scowled. From further down the table, Gendry scowled back.

"Ah, you are but an innocent child," Tyrion sighed "You have much to learn of the ways of court my dear. I hear Lord Varys toiled day and night for all eternity over this seating plan."

Sam and Tyrion laughed heartily. Arya did not see the humour. As Daenerys was now sitting down, she decided she'd better sit also, before Varys changed his mind and made her sit beside Gendry after all, in accordance with his wretched seating plan.

Once Sam and Tyrion were similarly settled (Tyrion on his cushion) Arya asked them why their cocks were not safe from Margaery Tyrell. She asked in a loud whisper as an old lady was sat to Tyrion's other side. Arya did not wish to alarm such a frail old lady her with such an improper conversation. Had she known then, that the frail old lady was Lady Oleena Redwyne, grandmother to Lady Tyrell, Arya would have not bothered to hold her tongue.

"I hear your sister-in-law is insatiable and not too fussy either, as long as the cock is attached to a wealthy lord, eh Tyrion?" Sam waggled his eyebrows at Arya and Tyrion.

Tyrion showed no sign of being bothered by Sam's barbed comments and was quick to retort, "First, she is hardly my sister-in-law and second, I am sure you would know better than I Master Hand. I hear power, as well as wealth, are the aphrodisiacs the lady craves."

Sam blushed scarlet.

Arya craned her neck around Sam's bulk to catch a glimpse of this insatiable lady.

Arya could not see Lady Tyrell's face, as she was turned entirely towards Gendry, but Arya could see Margaery stretch out one pale, elegant hand to cover Gendry's. He did not remove his. The insatiable, not too fussy, Lady Tyrell then tossed her head, sending her chestnut main tumbling over her shoulder as she leaned in towards Gendry, her interest and intent obvious.

"She is too old for him and surely she must already be married!" Arya huffed, not liking what she saw.

"Aye, but look to her husband, my nephew." Tyrion nodded towards a podgy boy of about twelve, who still had soft, childish features and a rather simple expression on his round face. "You understand why she seeks her pleasure elsewhere?"

Margaery Tyrell sought pleasure from Gendry?! How dare she! And there it was; _jealousy_, like a stab in her heart.

"If he is foolish enough to bed another man's wife, then she is welcome to him!"

Sam and Tyrion exchanged knowing smirks behind Arya's back.

As the realm now had two Kings and one Queen, Sam and Tyrion attempted to explain to Arya what a nightmare the seating arrangements had become. Despite pretending not to care, Arya was secretly fascinated to hear how Varys had pointed out to Aegon that, with Jon sat beside his Queen, Aegon might be seen to be the _second_ King if he sat to Jon's right. As soon as it had been mentioned by Varys, Aegon seized upon the issue and so the whole, age-old, established seating order had to be re-written. Now Queen Daenerys sat in the centre of the long table, with Jon and Aegon on either side. Thereafter the arrangement was lady, lord, lady and so on, in decreasing order of seniority.

To say Arya felt conspicuous amongst such illustrious company was an understatement. She felt as if she was the newest attraction at a freak show. It seemed as if all eyes were on her and, if they weren't actually looking at her, Arya was sure they were gossiping about her. If she could have possibly got up and walked away she would have, but to do so would probably annoy Jon so much he might suggest chaining her to her room next. So she sat and tried to keep her elbows in and her knees together as she looked at the bewildering array of cups and glasses, knives and forks in front of her.

She couldn't help imagining Septa Mordane rubbing her hands together in glee as Arya desperately tried to recall everything the old Septa had tried to teach her and Arya had been so determined _not_ to learn.

For the first time in her life, Arya found herself wishing she had paid more attention. She could not see Sansa in order to copy what she did, which had been Arya's usual way of muddling through such situations when they had been younger. _Much _younger. She groaned inwardly. She would be reduced to copying fat Sam. Arya imagined his manners would be no better than a pig at a trough, but at least he wouldn't be likely to comment on her manners, or rather the lack of them.

Arya looked down the table towards Gendry. She couldn't catch his eye. In fact, as she bobbed her head in front of and behind Sam's bulk, repeatedly, she was tempted to think he was deliberately ignoring her. At least his hand no longer seemed to be captive of the Tyrell harlot.

Arya couldn't help but wonder how Gendry was coping as she never remembered him having a hint of any manners when they were children. She wondered if he felt as out of place as she did herself. Arya felt a sudden pang of camaraderie in adversity, but despite trying to surreptitiously take a look down the line at every opportunity, she was not able to make him notice her. It seemed he was in a huff. Stupid, bastard boy.

She need not have worried about her manners though, as both Sam and Tyrion's were impeccable and easy to emulate. As Sam pointed out, rather proudly, he had been raised to be Lord, before adding, rather sadly, that was before he had been sent to The Wall. Then followed a nostalgic discussion between Tyrion and Sam about life on The Wall. Arya was fascinated. She had always hoped to go when she was younger, to find Jon. How different things might have been if Yoren had managed to take them there. Once again her thoughts turned to Gendry; once again she did not wish to contemplate what had passed between them earlier in the day and his wishes, nae, his _expectations_ of her.

As the first course of oysters in their shells was served, Aegon stood up. Of course, when one of The Kings stood, silence fell across the entire hall.

"Lords and ladies, good people of Westeros, tonight we are celebrating the safe return of our new Lord Baratheon and his Bad Company…" Arya watched Gendry raise his glass towards the back of the Great Hall. There was a loud cheer from that direction, followed swiftly by some booing from another section.

"Golden Company" Sam chuckled.

Aegon smirked, but was not distracted, "…as always, we must thank Lord Tyrell and Highgarden for its bounty…" The lord who sat on the other side of Sansa, nodded graciously. So _that _was Willas Tyrell of the flowers. Arya craned her neck to see him better. She was so busy peering that it took a jab in the ribs from Tyrion's stunted finger for her to realise that Aegon was now talking about her, although he was smiling down at Sansa "…and we have another cause for celebration tonight as Arya Stark has finally decided to prove to us that she is indeed a woman. Now House Stark can now boast of _two_ beautiful ladies." He purred, like a predatory big, silver cat.

To Arya's absolute horror, when she turned her attention away from Aegon and looked out across the hall, a good proportion of the sea of faces was now looking directly at her. Aegon raised his glass in a salute to Sansa, before draining it down in one. Arya didn't know who was more uncomfortable; Sansa or herself.

Just when Arya thought things couldn't possibly get any more excruciatingly embarrassing, she heard the scrape of chair legs on flagstones echo around the silent hall as someone else moved to stand up.

Arya craned her neck to search for the culprit. _Seven buggering hells! It was Gendry,_ drawing himself up to his full height with glass in hand. She would have happily let Baleron burn her to a cinder if it meant she didn't have to witness what she suspected was coming next.

Gendry turned towards her, his eyes boring into hers as he lifted his glass in a salute. His deep voice boomed around the Great Hall, just as his father's had all those years ago.

"To the stunning Lady Arya Stark!"

All assembled then lifted their own glasses and cups in a toast. The words "To Lady Arya Stark", spoken by a thousand voices all at once, echoed around The Great Hall. Every single eye was trained on her. Arya knew she was scarlet from the tips of her toes, to the top of her head. Gendry took a sip from his glass, raising his eyebrows at her over the rim. She felt herself gritting her teeth, screwing her hands into fists and digging her nails into her palms until she was sure she would draw blood.

_Stunning?_ No-one had ever called her that before, unless it was in reference to some hard blow she had struck to their head. _How dare he humiliate her like that! Was that his idea of a joke?!_ Everyone would be laughing at her from now until next winter, or perhaps the winter after that!

Arya cursed Gendry under her breath with every unsavoury oath she knew and a few she just made up. Tyrion turned from Lady Oleena Redwyne, with whom he was having a conversation about the merits of making wine by combining different types of grape (which Lady Redwyne appeared to regard as heresy), to Arya.

He fixed those mismatched eyes on her and said calmly,

"Cursing like a soldier is really rather unbecoming of one so _stunning, _Lady Arya."

"Don't you mock me too Tyrion! We freaks should stick together." She hissed, drawing him a menacing look.

Tyrion banged his cup down on the table with a ferocity that made Arya, and a few others nearby, jump.

"If _anyone_ stood up in front of this crowd of sycophants and arse lickers and called this freak 'stunning' and what's more _meant it, _then I would happily get down on my knees, suck his cock and thank him any other damn way he wanted me to!"

"Eh? Sucking his cork you say? Are we still talking about wine?" The Queen of Thorns shrilled across at them, causing Sam to splutter so hard, his mouthful of wine shot across the table and landed on the floor on the far side, much to Daenerys' disgust.

Ignoring both Lady Redwyne and Sam, Tyrion continued fiercely "Considering the matter further, I might actually have to stand on a stool, to pleasure that particular Lord, but he defended you when Aegon sought to mock you and you _curse _him for it! For shame Arya, I thought you better than that!"

This time she was angry at herself too because what Tyrion said was right. That's what _a friend_ would do for another friend wasn't it? _Bugger._ She might even have to thank Gendry for it. No sucking of cocks though. _Bugger, bugger, bugger_.

Arya huffed and cursed again, even angrier than before. "What are you doing here anyway Lannister? I though you lost this war. You should be off licking your wounds and counting your gold somewhere else."

"I am glad 'tis your brother I negotiate with and not you Lady Stark, for I assure you, King Jon wants me here, counting my Lannister gold into his eagerly outstretched hand."

"Watch your tongue Arya." Sam warned. For once, Arya took his advice and turned her back on Tyrion, leaving him to converse with old Lady Oleena about boring wine.

The rest of the meal passed slowly, as Sam was not half so entertaining without Tyrion and the meat, still oozing blood was not much to her liking. Nevertheless, she learned more about the precarious nature of the peace during that hour, than she had during the rest of her stay in the Red Keep.

Once the final course of cherries and cream had been served, Daenerys had a muttered, hurried conversation with Jon and he, seemingly reluctantly, stood up to address the crowd.

He clapped his hands loudly. The crowd felt instantly silent,

"Lords and ladies, good people of Westeros, we are at last at peace…" cheers broke out from all points around the hall. Jon had to raise his hands and call for silence before the crowd would stop cheering long enough for him to continue "… my Queen tells me that in peacetime we should dance."

He smiled down at Daenerys and she up at him. No-one could have mistaken the warmth between them.

"So… tonight we shall dance!"

At his word, a group of brightly clad musicians ran out from a side entrance to much enthusiastic applause and cheering. As they hastily set up their instruments, couples and small groups were already beginning to gather at the front of the hall, before the dais. An army of servants shooed away the diners who remained at the foremost tables and carried the tables and chairs away to be stacked against a wall. Within moments, the instruments were being tuned and the eager dancers stood impatiently, waiting on the Kings and Queen to take the lead.

Jon stood and offered Daenerys his hand. She accepted it willingly, looking every inch The Queen of the realm. Aegon was also standing, offering his hand to Sansa. She took it with deference, bowing her head to him, a sweet smile on her lips. On the other side of her, the look on the face of Willas Tyrell would have curdled milk.

Arya looked down the table to Gendry, glaring fixedly ahead. He seemed to be trying to resist the desperate attempts being made by Margaery Tyrell to get him to dance. To Arya's amusement, Lady Tyrell was rescued from her predicament by Sam, leaving Gendry alone. Perhaps he would come and rescue her now as she had no wish to dance or to be left sitting alone at the top table to be an object of everyone's pity.

But still Gendry did not look at her. Instead he lifted his glass and drained it in one. Every time she had seen him tonight he had that glass either in his hand or to his lips. She did not have time to ponder it further, as Willas Tyrell was standing before her asking for this dance, although he looked as if he would rather drink that milk he had just curdled than have to.

She opened her mouth to decline, but Tyrion caught her eye with another very disapproving look. So she tried to conjure up one of Lady Sansa's sweet smiles and accept Lord Tyrell's offer with good grace. As she rose to take his hand, Gendry finally looked her way. Yet another _very _disproving look. She was damned if she accepted, damned if she didn't. Well if he didn't want her to dance with Lord Tyrell, then he should have asked her himself!

Willas Tyrell walked with a limp, but at least his sour expression dissipated as they approached the dance floor and assumed their positions for the first dance. She had seen these stiff, formal dances many times before, but had never participated in one. How hard could it be? Lord Tyrell looked like he knew what he was doing and Sansa was there to follow. Dancing to music was just like water dancing only easier, surely.

It turned out not to be quite as easy as Arya had thought, but she was observant and her reactions were quick. Besides, Willas had a steady hand. This was a slowly, stately procession of a dance and she did not notice him limp much. He only grimaced once and Arya thought that was more to do with the sound of Sansa's laughter reaching them as King Aegon twirled her around unexpectedly, rather than any pain in his leg.

As they stepped apart and together again, Lord Tyrell commented upon how much like her sister Arya looked. As he said it, his eyes darted across the floor to Sansa; a vision of loveliness in green and auburn. Arya snorted in a most unladylike fashion.

"You have a twisted sense of humour Lord Tyrell."

Willas gave her a puzzled look. "I would have thought comparison to the most beautiful woman in the seven kingdoms would have pleased you Lady Arya. I am not sure why I am the recipient of your sarcasm. I merely sought to compliment you both on your comeliness, a trait which obviously runs strong in the Stark family."

Arya wasn't sure if he was still jesting or if the fool was serious. Perhaps his eyes were as damaged as his leg.

"Sansa is the beauty in the family, there is no doubt. I, on the other hand, do not count beauty amongst my list of accomplishments." She grinned wickedly at the thought. Put a sword in her hand and Willas Tyrell would know where her talents lay and 'twas not in looking pretty to please some lord.

He smiled as if her words amused him. "Pray tell me of this list of accomplishments then Lady Arya. It must be impressive indeed if beauty does not feature on it."

"Ah, beauty is not on it, but humility is Lord Tyrell…" Arya gave him a sly smile, "…so I shall not bore you with the details, except to confess that it is a long list."

As Willas laughed, his eyes crinkled rather attractively at the sides, "Such beauty and such humility. The Stark sisters are indeed peas in a pod."

Willas was a natural dancer and, when she was unsure of the steps, he guided her in the right direction without commenting on her lack of skill. It was almost a pleasurable experience, submitting to the ebb and flow of the dance, spoiled only when, on every turn, she would catch Gendry glowering at her over his wine glass.

She was quite sorry when the dance was over, Willas graciously bowed and kissed her hand, "The pleasure has been all mine Lady Arya. I confess my leg does weary me after a while, but I hope you will favour me with another dance anon. I find your beauty and your wit a pleasing combination."

Arya did not know what to make of that. Was he jesting with her again? But Willas had no sooner let go of her hand than Sam appeared beside them, offering his hand to her.

"May I have the pleasure lady Arya?"

"If you think dancing with me will be a pleasure, you are more fool than you look Samwell Tarly."

Still, she let him take her hand and this time the music was faster and the dance more lively. For a fat man, Sam was surprisingly light on his feet and his obvious enjoyment of dancing was infectious. He whooped as he twirled Arya away from him and cheered as she returned. Arya found herself laughing too as other couples took up Sam's enthusiastic version of the dance. She was too busy twirling and laughing to notice Gendry calling for another wine skin and draining down another glass.

She was flushed and giggling when they eventually stopped and Sam nodded to Gendry. "A word of…" he was panting, "…warning. He does not usually drink for fear of becoming his father."

To Arya's mind that's exactly who he looked like. Alone on the raised dais, wine glass in his hand, save for the fact that he looked sullen and angry. At least King Robert was a merry drunk.

"Tread warily Arya, for he is not himself when under the influence." Sam cautioned.

"I have every intention of avoiding him anyway!" Arya replied haughtily.

"I hope you do not mean me little sister." Jon said from behind.

"Errr…no, not you. But I was just going to sit down."

"Not yet. I need to talk to you."

Arya blew out a deep breath, certain that Jon was going to moan at her again. This time for ruining Varys' damn seating plan.

He led her into the line of dancers, standing waiting for the musicians to begin again. In front of them, Aegon stood beside Daenerys. Together they were the perfect image of a Targaryen King and Queen; Aegon so tall, slim with a regal bearing, Daenerys all soft, ripe curves and both, of course, with their unmistakeable Targaryen silver blonde hair.

Arya decided, on looks alone, Jon was by far the better match for The Queen of Dragons. They were light and dark, ice from the North, fire from the South, the perfect contrast, rather then the perfect compliment. Aegon and Daenerys were too alike. It was unsettling and too much of a reminder of Targaryen madness. Although Jon was as much Targaryen as them, his looks were pure Stark.

As she and Jon stood in line behind the Targaryens, Arya wondered how the two of them looked together. In this stupid red dress and with all Sansa's fixing, did she and Jon look as much the mirror image of each other as Aegon and Daenerys? Did their height, dark hair and eyes draw attention? Arya could not believe any couple could ever be as striking as two silver Dragons.

The dance started and Jon moved through the paces passably well, leaving Arya to struggle somewhat, as he was not the subtle, gracious tutor that Willas had been, nor the enthusiastic innovator Sam was.

"What are you doing here Arya?"

That caught her off guard. Had he not wished her to come to dinner after all?

"I am here because I love wearing dresses and dancing brother," she smiled as sweetly as she could, although the words might have come out as more sarcastic than she had intended.

"Do not try and play games with me Arya. Tell me why you are returned from Braavos."

Oh, that.

"Because you sent Brienne to fetch me and here I am." She tried another saccharine sweet smile. He was not amused. However, the dance took them apart for a few moments and she had time to gather her thoughts.

Brienne had called to her in the street in Braavos and had immediately spoken to her of Jon and Bran and Sansa. Arya had made the impulsive decision there and then to just leave with her. She had needle secreted on her person and there was nothing at the House of Black and White to hold her. She had turned her back on her old life in an instant, the hope of being reunited with her family overriding any thought of, or loyalty to, the Kindly Man.

That very night Brienne had obtained passage for them on ship bound for Westeros. Surely Jon did not know of her time with the Faceless Men? Brienne had never given any indication of knowing. A sick feeling washed over her, but she would not let it overcome her. Jon could not know and she would give nothing away.

"I fled to Braavos after what happened at The Twins. I had nowhere and no one else to go to. I tried for The Wall Jon, truly I did, but I could not make it. I was…only a girl then and all alone." It was all true, as far as it went.

She saw his expression soften. He always had a weakness for her and it was there still. She would use it if she needed to, but for now she had him where she wanted him. Arya tried to look sad and look up at him through her eyelashes the way she had seen silly women do when they wanted something from a man. If she had thought she could do it convincingly, she would have tried to tremble her lower lip.

"If I could possibly have saved you all of that, I would have. I searched for you too. I even thought I'd found you once. You must believe me Arya. You have always been so precious to me." It was said with such passion and sincerity, she almost felt a bit guilty for manipulating him like this. She threw her arms around him in a bear hug. He would like that and he would hate it in equal measure. Hopefully he would stop talking about it.

"Oh, I know it, I know it, Jon. But I am here and I do not want to think upon those awful times again. I have you and Sansa now and I want to be a good sister."

Jon was obviously taken aback by such demonstrative behaviour and, although he patted her back very briefly, he quickly extricated himself from her hold gently but firmly.

He held her at arms length, "And I want to be a good brother. I am pleased to see things are improving between us and you have made an effort tonight Arya."

"Thank dear Sansa, for 'tis all her doing – not mine." She tried to look humble and fluttered her eyelashes. He began to look rather sceptical. Perhaps she was overdoing it with the eyelashes.

As they joined in the dance again, he continued, "Lord Baratheon seemed to appreciate your efforts, although I doubt your refusing to sit beside him would please him much."

The both turned to look at that Lord, glaring at them over his wine glass.

"I do not want to speak of him," Arya said airily, trying to sound disinterested. She did not want to go over this again. Not tonight, not with Gendry's eyes following her everywhere and his having stood up and toasted her and not after what Tyrion had said and her beginning to think kindly of him.

"I was wondering how your meeting went?" Jon cocked his head, staring intently at her as they moved apart and then together.

Arya could not bear it. "I do not want to speak of it or him or marriage or any other lords or dresses or…or anything!"

"As you wish. We shall discuss it later." Jon shrugged.

"Aren't you going to chastise me and nag me like an old woman?"

"Not tonight." He said simply and, damn him, he finished the rest of the dance in silence.

Without the distraction of conversation, she was able to look more often at Gendry. A tall, broad man with greying hair was standing in front of the dais, talking to him, and from the look on Gendry's face, he did not like the conversation.

"The wine they serve to the Lords must be better than the sour piss we're getting tonight, judging by the amount of it you're drinking." Lem observed wryly as Gendry took another long drink.

"Aye. 'Tis acceptable." Gendry muttered, swirling the finest wine from the Arbour around his glass.

"Come and sit with us. At least you would have some company."

"As you know, my place is here now and besides, I prefer the view from up here."

Lem followed his gaze to the beautiful woman in the scarlet dress dancing so gracefully with King Jon. "Aye, well I cannot disagree with that. She has certainly grown up. If I had a choice between sitting across from Jack-Be-Lucky or watching her, I'd be sitting where you are sitting my friend."

Lem turned again to his one time pupil. "You're doing yourself no favours by getting drunk up here, while she's dancing over there boy."

"Have you finished your lecture old man? Then go and leave me in peace."

Lem narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. "Have I ever given you advice that wasn't good and true? Have I ever steered you wrong?"

"No," Gendry admitted reluctantly, "but you never taught me how to dance either."

Lem threw his head back and laughed long and hearty. "The transition from bastard Knight to great lord was never going to be an easy one, but I did not anticipate dancing present such an obstacle. I only wish all our problems could be so easily overcome."

Gendry didn't reply, instead he kept his gaze fixed on Arya. It was not hard to loose himself when he watched her. She moved with a grace that enchanted and fascinated him. He alternated between imaging her with a sword in her hand, fighting him with all the strength and skill he had witnessed in the training yard and imagining her naked under him, the long, graceful lines of her body arching up against him as he took her hard and deep.

Lem, seeing his comrade so lost in thought, simply shook his head and walked off, back to the rest of Bad Company and their piss poor wine.

Arya was not in the best of moods when the music stopped. Jon was all but ignoring her and immediately stalked off; Gendry was still silently staring, but would not ask her to dance. She was sick of both of them. Her mood was not improved when she heard a deep, rich voice behind her say, "So Arya Stark has breasts and not a cock after all."

She whirled around to find King Aegon standing there, a slow smile curving his mouth. Those purple Targaryen eyes, bewitching on Daenerys, were far too disconcerting on him. He held out his arm.

"Begone dragon. I'm not dancing with you." She snapped, wishing her breasts were not quite so obviously on show.

"I wasn't asking." King Aegon replied in a mocking tone. "Walk with me." He took another step towards her, arm still held out.

The other couples were pairing up and assuming their positions for the next dance. She wanted to get away from this place. Gendry's eyes still bored into her, Jon was also watching now, from his place on the dance floor beside Daenerys. Would she be forgiven if she caused another scene on the dance floor with another King? Probably not. Arya reluctantly took Aegon's arm. She might be able to steer him towards the door. As she placed her arm on his, Margaery Tyrell appeared in front of them.

"I thought this was _our _dance Aegon." She purred.

"Alas, Lady Arya claimed me first. She simply cannot bear to let me go, but as she is too exhausted to dance any more, she has begged me to take a turn around the hall with her."

Arya was speechless, 'twas all such blatant lies. Lady Tyrell narrowed her eyes. Margaery may have only shown mild curiosity towards her before, but now Arya knew she was marked as a rival. Arya could not have cared less. The grand lady reluctantly moved aside to let them pass.

As Aegon steered Arya from the dance floor, he murmured into her ear, "I owe you a debt of gratitude for saving me from that awful woman. I fear she will suck me dry, leaving only a magnificent, empty husk behind."

Arya glanced across at him as he led her on. Was he really so vain? He might be a Targaryen Dragon King, but he was still just a man. From what she had seen and heard, a spoiled, wicked, far too pretty man, but just a man all the same.

"I am glad you are saved and not to be sucked dry." Arya said, trying to sound cool and matter-of-fact. "Now please let go of my arm and I shall leave you to find some more agreeable company." She moved her arm away, but his fingers tightened on her wrist immediately, not so much that they hurt her, but just short of it. He was fast and strong, stronger than her and knew how to judge his strength precisely. She would not be able to break his hold easily. It was an uncomfortable thought.

"Who says I do not find your company agreeable?" he murmured.

They were at the edge of the dance floor now. Arya looked longingly towards the door, but Aegon steered them back towards the dais and to their seats in the centre. The top table was almost empty – most of the lords and ladies occupying themselves with the dancing. Gendry still sat sullenly in the same seat. A serving girl was filling his wine glass. Again. Arya gave him a beseeching look, which he studiously ignored. Why would he not come and save her from Aegon's unwanted attentions?

Aegon steered her past Willas and Tyrion, sat together, deep in conversation. As she passed behind, she saw Tyrion had drawn a frame or cage and that Willas' leg was laid across Tyrion's lap. The two of them gestured animatedly between the drawing and Willa's twisted leg. 'Twas a strange scene indeed to behold at the top table!

As Aegon reached the centre of that table, he pulled out the chair next to his and motioned for her to sit down. She didn't want to. She wanted to leave. Gendry was glowering at them both. There would be no rescue from him.

Aegon sat down first and hauled her down beside him. At least he let go of her wrist when they were seated. She rubbed at it angrily.

"I did not know you had such a magnificent figure under those ugly men's clothes you favour. I suspect you do not have an inkling of the effect such a figure has on a man, otherwise you would always dress like this." A wicked smile curved his elegant mouth. "I can assure you Lady Arya, every man would surrender to you immediately without the need for you to draw your sword."

She had no interest in his silver tongued lies. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but before she could utter a word, a gruff, deep voice above her growled, "You're wasting your time with the she-wolf Aegon. She wants no man. She's just a cock tease in a red dress."

Arya stood up and slapped him.

She slapped Gendry across the face as hard as she could. The sound was shocking, like the crack of a whip, echoing around the Great Hall. Everyone, all at once, fell silent.

Her hand was stinging with pain and she could see the mark of her fingers on his face.

He lifted his hand and for an awful moment she thought he was going to hit her back, but he touched his fingers to the side of his mouth. Blood was beginning to trickle from there, where Sansa's ring had caught him.

And then he made it even worse.

"You're welcome to her Aegon."

He turned and stormed out of the hall, his expression stopping anyone from saying anything to him.

He just needed to get away, not caring where he headed or why. He just needed to try and erase the sight of her, blazing with righteous anger in that damn red dress and the pain of seeing her with every other lord except him.

Arya, Aegon and every other person in The Great Hall stood and watched him go.

How dare he! Not caring what anyone else thought, Arya gathered up her skirts and ran after him.

By the time she reached the door of the hall, he was almost out of sight. The corridor was now only dimly lit by candles flickering in a few wall sconces. He looked like a black shadow flying down the corridor.

She shouted after him, demanding he stop. If he heard, he never turned. She started running after him, but in this stupid dress and with his long, angry strides, she doubted she would be able to catch him if he did not stop.

"You come back here and apologize to me Gendry Waters!" she yelled at the top of her voice.

That stopped him and he turned sharply around. His scowl did not soften, but at least he started back up the corridor towards her. She stopped and unwittingly took a step back when they met as his anger and the size of him was shocking. She felt vulnerable and exposed in this stupid dress and wished she had on her usual britches and tunic. Then she might feel more inclined to try and knock some sense into him.

In the flickering candle light, his face was all anger and shadows. A vein beside his scar pulsed with barely controlled rage. His fists were balled at his sides.

"I'll apologize to you, if you apologize to me for ignoring me while you throw yourself at every other fucking lord in there" he growled back, his voice deep and hard, reverberating around the empty stone corridor and making her shiver.

"What gives you the right to comment on what I do or do not do?! And I did not throw myself at anyone!" she yelled.

He took another menacing step towards her, "you laughed and flirted constantly with Sam and Tyrion throughout dinner, you were danced and kissed by Willas Tyrell, you threw yourself around Sam on the floor, embraced Jon and allowed yourself to be led away by that fucking cunt Aegon!"

She held her ground, shaking with anger and indignation, but her voice was not as steady as she would have liked, "'twas not like that at all."

His breath was fast and shallow as he approached her, dipping and tilting his head. She recognised that look in his eyes. She had seen it before; the first time they had met in Jon's solar. _Lust_.

"Tell me how it was then Arya. Tell why you want every lord except me."

She took a step backwards and found herself against the cold stone wall. She shivered again as he leant over her, but she didn't think it was just the cold. _Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water._

"I do not want any of them."

He dropped his face down to hers so that his lips were almost against hers. His eyes were focused most disconcertingly on her mouth. He reeked of wine, his breath warm and moist against her skin.

"Do you want me?"

"You are drunk."_ Calm as still water._

"Aye, drunk enough to tell you that no other man will ever love you as I do."

He traced the edge of her bodice ever so slowly with his finger tips. She batted his hand away, he brought it back. Her red dress revealed too much skin, and at the same time, not enough. She smelled of roses and warm, aroused woman. It was hardly fair. No wonder he was lost. There was no one for him but her. There never had been. There never would be.

Everything about him was hard except his touch, gently sliding over the globe of her breast, feeling the rise and fall of her breast, hearing her breathing change.

She tried to take a step to the side to get away from him. He immediately placed one hand flat against the wall beside her, preventing her sideways escape. Before she could begin to slide the other way, he pinned her to the wall with his thighs. She had a wall against her back and his body was hard as stone pressing against her front. Arya knew exactly what part of him was pressed against her stomach now, but she tried not to think of that. She should be trying to free herself, but instead her hands were resting on his chest. She should be pushing him away, but instead the steady '_thump-thump'_ of his heart seemed to be all that anchored her in a storm of emotions.

He bent his head to kiss her, but she turned her head away.

"What are you so frightened of? 'Tis just a kiss Arya."

"Do not." Her voice was husky and raw.

He covered her mouth with his before she could say any more. She froze.

Why would she not respond to him, melt against him, fight him, _anything_ rather than this…this…coldness? He could not bear it.

"Kiss me back." His own voice was hoarse.

She turned her head away again. He followed her mouth with his.

"Kiss me back." He repeated, his voice rough.

Finally she looked at him. Eyes huge, shining like silver steel in the darkness. "I cannot."

"Cannot?" he echoed. He was drunk, but not that drunk. She hadn't said "_will not_"; she had said "_cannot_".

She made the mistake of wetting her lips with the point of her tongue. He could not resist. His mouth was on hers again before she had time to realise what he intended. Her lips were parted and this time he slid his tongue into her mouth. This time he wanted to taste all of her.

That one kiss from him, tasting of sweet wine with a hint of metal from where she'd bloodied him, was more intoxicating than anything she had ever drunk in her life. Everything else was forgotten as his tongue slid against hers, teasing, dancing, sucking. And she wanted more.

He tried to kiss her slowly. He tried to control his rampaging body. He kissed her much more slowly than he wanted to, pressed himself against her much more gently than he needed to. He did not want to scare her. He did not want her to say 'cannot'. He wanted her to moan his name and say 'yes' and 'please' and 'now'.

Her body softened against him first, her hands relaxed against his chest, then her mouth, accepting him and finally, finally, the first tentative touch of her tongue against his.

It was wonderful. It was terrifying. He was drunk on wine and she was drunk on his kisses.

She was so lost in the kiss that she did not notice his hand until it touched the inside of her thigh. It was warm, reassuring and shocking, rough and gentle, all at the same time.

His fingers found one leather strap and his hand stopped. She did not want him too.

"Do not stop." She murmured into his mouth. She moved her hand to the back of his neck and wound her fingers into his hair, pulling him down. She did not want him to stop, did not want him to leave. Ever.

He ran his hand higher. He found the second strap and stopped again. His fingers follow the strap around until they touched the cold steel of Needle.

Gendry lifted his head forcefully. "At any moment you're going to slit my throat aren't you?" he muttered, his voice deep with desire.

"I might," she said, with a wicked glint in her eyes.

"There are worse ways to die." He kissed her again and this time she arched against him.

"Arya! Are you unharmed?" Sansa's voice rang out anxiously from the end of the corridor.

Hearing her sister's concern was like a bucket of cold water in the face. Arya froze. What was she doing? Gendry relaxed the pressure of his hips against hers and let her skirt fall down again as he withdrew his hand. They both turned towards the voice.

"She is fine." Gendry called back through gritted teeth, his annoyance obvious in his voice, his stance, in everything.

"She didn't ask you, _Lord Baratheon_." Aegon's smooth voice called back.

Arya felt Gendry stiffen with anger and heard the almost growl from deep in his throat.

"Yes I am unharmed," Arya shouted quickly before Gendry could reply to Aegon, adding "so far" under her breath, so only Gendry could hear.

Arya wondered what Sansa and Aegon could see in the shadows. Probably not much and Gendry was careful to shield her from view with his body. Arya peeked out from under his arm. Sansa stood at the top of the corridor, worry etched on her beautiful face. King Aegon was behind her, arms folded, face expressionless.

"You need to let me go." Arya hissed.

"Stay with me." His eyes glittered in the candle light.

It was too much and whatever spell had been between them was broken. "I want to go." She ducked under his arm.

Arya didn't know where the question came from, but all of a sudden she needed to know why he had almost ignored her all night then kissed her as if he was consumed with a need he could barely control. "If you want me so much, why would you not dance with me?"

His mood changed instantly. He straightened up and set his jaw. All cold, hard, fury again. She could see the muscles clenching and unclenching his teeth. "Where do you suppose a _bastard_ like me would have learned to dance?" he snarled and, without waiting for an answer he turned on his heel and stalked away.

She was so shocked by the whole encounter she made no move after him this time and simply stood and watched his huge form retreat until he turned the corner, out of sight.

"Arya!" Sansa called again from the end of the corridor.

"Coming." Arya brushed her finger tips against her lips where he had kissed her. She felt bruised by his desire and shocked by her own response. This changed everything. Were such things visible? She walked slowly back towards Sansa and Aegon. She was about to find out.

**And so will we, but we have to wait until next Friday…**

**This chapter owes a lot to Brazilian Guy and his astute insight. It would have been quite different and not nearly as good without him. I have to thank him for his advice and support. I am in your debt Ser! **


	7. Chapter 7 - How to woo a Wolf

**Chapter 7**

**How to woo a wolf**

_Thump-Thump_

_Thump-Thump_

_Thump-Thump_

She could feel his heart beating in time with her own. She felt deliciously warm and safe. Content. 'Twas a wonderful feeling. Arya rolled onto her back, uncurled and stretched, arms way out above her head and toes pointed down as far as they would go. When had she ever woken feeling so hopeful? She couldn't wait to discover what this new day would bring.

A smile curved on her lips as she reached a hand under the covers towards him, seeking her warm, hard Gendry. Yes, _hers_. She turned, expecting to see him open his blue eyes, waking up as she had with a delicious, wicked smile on his lips. But instead her hand found cold empty linen and an un-dented pillow.

She sat up with a start. Where was he? Where had he gone? She looked around frantically. All she could see was her own bare room in the grey, early morning light. There were no men's boots at the side of the bed, his clothes weren't discarded in a heap and his sword wasn't to hand on the floor. There was nothing. Nothing except that red dress hanging over the back of her chair.

Arya collapsed back on the bed and flung her arm over her eyes. It could not be true. She was alone. It had been so real. She had heard his heartbeat. Nae, more than that, she had _felt_ it. His warm breath had feathered her neck. It _was_ real. She would swear on it.

She curled herself up into a ball and screwed her eyes shut. She would go there again. Breathe, concentrate, listen, focus on that _thump-thump_. Nothing else. Just that. Just him.

It was like sinking, but in a wonderful way, like falling slowly through layers of soft feather beds. If she thought only on his heart beat she would find him again. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth again. He was back; it had not been so difficult. He was wrapped around her, so warm and strong. She never wanted to leave this, loose this. They could lie here forever and be content. She held him to her, concentrating on his heart beat, being soothed by its steady, dependable rhythm and felt herself drifting off to sleep.

It was so wonderful, she knew she should just surrender herself completely to it. But part of her wanted to see him, part of her wanted proof it _was_ him. The desperate, lonely other part of her told her to just take it, accept, don't question, why can't you just enjoy it you fool? Of course, curiosity won with her. It always did.

Arya opened her eyes, but she didn't really. She opened her eyes in her dream and he wasn't there. Instead of black hair, she saw white pelt, instead of blue eyes, she saw red, as knowing and ancient as the heart tree in Winterfell. Those red eyes held everything she had ever wanted. There were no human words to describe what she saw there. It was beyond words, deep, elemental, primal. She could call it home or family, pack or belonging and still it wouldn't be nearly enough. It was life and death, all or nothing. It was _everything_. And it was just a dream.

A single tear escaped from the corner of her eye. She wiped it away immediately. She was a fool and she wouldn't cry over a dream.

She angrily uncurled herself once more, throwing back the covers and swinging her legs out of bed. She stomped across the room and pulled out her bindings and britches and tunic again. Why should it matter anyway? She had a task to complete and could not allow herself to be detracted. All she knew was emptiness and death and she was not done with death yet. Had she not sworn an oath to herself, over and over and over,

Weese,

Dunsen,

Polliver,

Raff the Sweetling,

The Tickler and the Hound.

Ser Gregor,

Ser Amory,

Ser Ilyn,

Ser Merhn,

King Joffrey,

Queen Cersi.

Valar Morghulis.

As she bound down her breasts and dressed herself in soldier's attire, she felt herself return. By the time she had secreted Needle in her boot, she felt strong again and in control. She could not stop until it was done. Soft and safe was not for her. Her need for revenge burned as fiercely as it ever had. That was all she needed to warm her. It had been forged in the murders of Mycah and her Father and in the blood of Harrenhal. She would be relentless as the wind on the mountains and the waves of the sea. She would have her revenge.

-o-

Gendry awoke with a pounding headache and it was not caused only by last night's wine.

He sat up in bed with a groan and dragged his hands through his hair. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

He had called her a cock tease in a red dress and he had received a hard slap for it. Aye, he deserved that and more. He rubbed his fingers over his jaw where she had landed her blow. He doubted any other woman could have hit him as hard as his fierce she wolf. The thought gave him a perverse sense of pride and made him smile, although that did not last long.

Had he even apologised when she had demanded it? He could not remember. But he could remember his hand on her smooth, strong thigh and her tongue in his mouth. By the Gods, he would never forget it! Seven hells, the thought made him hard as a rock again and he needed a piss. 'Twas a pity all the blood had been in his cock last night too and not in his stupid, empty head.

As he swung his legs over the side of the bed, he spied the broken table and empty wine skin on the floor. Bugger. He had forgotten about that too.

Lem, Anguy and Tom O'Sevens had woken him at some God forsaken hour, reeling drunk and hell bent on teaching him how to dance. Mercifully, all three of them together had been too drunk to drag him out of bed, but he did recall Tom collapsing on top of the table as he staggered about in a drunken farce of a dance. Gendry also remembered trying to jam his head under his pillow in an attempt to drown out the noise of Tom's drunken playing and Lem's even more drunken advice.

The old man had repeated himself over and over, in that way drunkards are wont to do and Gendry suspected he must have fallen asleep with his pillow over his head while the three of them still ranted over him about dancing and wooing. Bugger that old Lem. His heart was in the right place, but his timing was all to cock. Gendry had to smile though, who would have thought dancing so bloody important.

It was coming back to him now; all three of them had been advising, nae _demanding _that he woo Lady Arya properly. Wooing. Even the thought made his head ache more.

Gendry did allow he needed advice, for she had not woken in his bed this morning. Last night she had claimed to want to leave, despite her body telling him otherwise. And she had said '_cannot_'. He did not pretend to know what she meant by that. Had he the right soft words and practiced charm, like Aegon, he might have sweet talked her into his bed last night. After all, she had demanded he not stop when his hand was on her thigh! Bugger that horse's arse Aegon! If Aegon had not interrupted them, Arya would have urged him on and would his fingers not have found that warm, soft place every woman has and every man wants? Aye and he was sure he would have found hers slick with desire for him.

Bugger, he would never manage to take a piss if he did not stop thinking on her thighs and what lay beyond. He would seek advice and not from those three drunkards. He would seek his council from the man who knew her better than anyone. Aye, Jon would offer sound advice, he was sure.

-o-

When Arya wrenched open the door to her chamber, after the third, aggressive knock, she was ready launch into a tirade of abuse at the Crow she suspected was disturbing her solitude.

However, when she opened the door, 'twas not a crow she saw -'twas nothing at all. Until she looked down and saw Tyrion's mismatched eyes and nose-less face staring up at her.

"Oh, 'tis you." She snapped ungraciously.

He bid her good morning and bowed with a flourish, once more putting her manners to shame.

"You'd better come in I suppose." She muttered reluctantly, stepping back to allow him entrance.

"Even if you have no care for your honour Lady Stark, I have a care for mine. It would not do either of our reputations any good if I was seen entering your chamber alone."

Arya looked across at the two crows propping up the wall opposite her chambers. She hadn't seen these two before, but it seemed she was going to have to get used to a pair of crows watching her wherever she went and no doubt reporting back to King Jon.

"Agreed. You have another purpose on calling on me I presume?"

Tyrion gave her a broad smile, "Indeed I do Lady Arya."

He stepped back, pointing the way down the corridor with another bow and flourish.

With a sigh, Arya closed the door behind her and started walking, slowly for her legs were much longer than his.

"I see you have donned your armour once more." Tyrion observed wryly as they walked.

Arya looked down at her tunic, about to call him for a blind fool, until she realised what he meant. She was buttoned up to the neck. Underneath, her breasts were once more bound, her legs clad in men's britches and boots.

She had no answer to his quip, so she merely nodded.

"We did not part on the best of terms last night Arya."

"You are particularly observant this morning my lord." she replied dryly.

"I feel I owe you an explanation."

"You owe me nothing Lannister, nor I you."

Tyrion sighed and stopped at a window, with a seat below, cut from the thick castle wall.

"Let us sit here and talk, as otherwise I shall get the most painful crick in my neck." He hopped up onto the seat, without waiting for her to agree.

Arya looked back down the corridor at the crows following a distance behind. Yet again her options were limited. This was intolerable. She reluctantly sat beside Tyrion and gazed moodily out of the window.

"I want you to know why your cursing Lord Baratheon vexed me so last night."

"I had thought perhaps it was jealously? I do recall you wanting to suck the man's cock." Arya tried to keep her voice cool and disinterested as she said it, but 'twas hard not to smirk. She expected Tyrion to splutter and curse in shocked outrage, but 'twas obvious Tyrion Lannister was far better practiced at this verbal jousting than she was. He simply rubbed a finger across the scarred middle of his face where his nose aught to be and fixed her with his strange, piercing eyes.

"You can scoff at my advice Arya, but I will have you listen first."

Tyrion was in no mood for japes. She was reminded of Jon. Everyone was so bloody serious all of the time now.

"Pray continue then." She muttered.

"I am aware that your brother wishes you wed to Lord Baratheon and I intend to tell you of my own, arranged marriage in the hope that you can learn from it."

Arya's ears pricked up. To be married to a Lannister, even a stunted one, would have once been a great honour for a lady. Before the war. Before the Lannister's lost.

"My father wished an alliance between her Great House and ours to further his own ends of course. He always was a greedy, grasping prick. I was given no say in the matter. Neither was she."

It was Tyrion's turn to direct his gaze out of the window, while Arya studied him intently. She was as interested in _why_ he was telling her this as she was to hear the tale.

"We did, however, enter the marriage with different intentions. I was prepared to make the best of it and, despite appearances and what you may think Arya, I am not a bad man. I even hoped in those days, I could make some lady a decent husband. Nae, _a good_ _husband_." Tyrion added softly. He shook his head and sighed before continuing, "My lady wife however, was of a different mind. She did not rage against me or attempt to flee from me. No, she was not so obvious in her contempt. She lay beside me every night but her thoughts were ever elsewhere."

He paused and shook his head sadly again.

"Have you any idea what it is like to lie beside your beautiful wife night after night and know she wishes she was elsewhere? To have her beside you and know her thoughts are not with you? 'Tis torment of the cruellest kind."

They sat in silence, both looking out of the window, across the plain, both lost in their thoughts. Arya's wandered quickly from Tyrion's loveless marriage to her revenge. The Hound was out there somewhere, hiding from her. She wondered if Brienne had found him yet.

"Are you thinking on Lord Baratheon?" Tyrion asked suddenly.

Arya looked at him, startled. "No, of course I am not."

"Then I think I have made my point." Tyrion shrugged and sighed, "I know him not, but from what I hear, he is a good man. I would not wish the marriage I had on a good man."

"You worry for naught. I have no intention of marrying him."

"Think hard on it Arya. 'Tis all or nothing with men."

Arya mumbled "I shall," having no intention whatsoever of doing so. He was a queer man this Lannister. He had been to The Wall and back, given instructions for Bran's saddle, won the battle of the Blackwater single handed by some accounts, been a Hand of the King, been on the losing side in a war and yet was welcomed back to King's Landing by her brother with open arms. Now Tyrion spoke to her of love and longing too.

Tyrion gave her a sad, lopsided smile and dropped down from the seat onto the floor.

"You do not know of whom I speak do you?"

Arya shook her head.

There was no smile on his face and a deep sadness in his eyes as he gave the name of his bride, "Sansa Stark."

Arya could only sit and gawp as Tyrion Lannister, half-man and once husband to the most beautiful woman in the seven Kingdoms, waddled away.

-o-

They hear voices outside in the corridor. Pyp, stationed outside Jon's Solar as guard, opened the door and announced "Weyland approaches and he don't look happy."

"Show _Lord Baratheon_ in as soon as he arrives" Jon snapped. Pyp looked displeased by the reprimand, but nodded a reluctant acknowledgement before closing the door with more force that was strictly necessary

Sam chuckled, "I can't get used to calling him Lord Baratheon either – you can hardly blame Pyp."

Jon's attitude softened somewhat. "I know" he sighed, "all the same; we can hardly expect everyone else to use and accept his new title if we do not ourselves."

"True," Sam conceded, as the man himself flung open the door, stomped across the room and dropped into the chair opposite Jon's desk in a fury of long limbs, boots and steel.

To a background of constant, inventive cursing, the new Lord Baratheon kicked his boots up to rest on the corner of Jon's desk, shifted his sword scabbard and settled himself comfortably in the chair. Only when he was so settled, did he look up at his two friends.

"Oh, sorry. Not interrupting anything am I?"

"Only our attempts to work out how to build our fresh water canals and pay and disperse the army" Jon muttered irritably.

"Oh, that again." Weyland groaned, immediately disinterested. His skills lay in fighting and bending metal to his will, not in this penny pinching and administration.

In truth Jon and Sam were glad of the distraction, for the answer to their problem was not an easy one. Thousands of men expected to receive some payment for their efforts in the war, but as no new lands had been conquered and no new treasures won, there was no gold to pay the army. Soldiers would not leave empty handed to return to their homes, or at least they would not leave happily.

The last thing Jon wanted was more dissent in the Kingdom, but it looked as if that particular problem would need to wait as his friend obviously had a need to talk _now_.

"I need your help" Weyland demanded fiercely, looking from Jon to Sam and back, as if defying them to refuse.

Jon and Sam exchanged a quick, surprised glance. The three of them had offered each other counsel countless times over the years, but for their friend to storm in like this and _demand_ assistance – was hitherto unknown.

"Of course" Jon and Sam both said together, causing them both to chuckle and earning them a scowl from Lord Baratheon.

He took a deep breath and blurted out, "I must woo Lady Arya and I do not know how."

Sam tried to suppress a guffaw of laughter, but his attempt wasn't wholly successful and he ended up choking and spluttering. His two friends looked at him with something bordering distaste. That only made Sam want to laugh harder.

These two great warriors could win a Kingdom together, yet Sam was sure Jon had no more idea how to woo a woman than Weyland. As he tried to recover himself, it occurred to Sam that what his two friends together knew about wooing women could probably be written on a piece of parchment the size of his thumbnail.

Sam could not resist his next comment, "I fear this is not our area of expertise my lords. I suggest we should seek expert advice on wooing from King Aegon."

Weyland's face was black as thunder. He lifted his big boots off the desk and slammed them on the floor "If you think I'm going to that pretty, preening horse's arse for his advice on this, then your head's gone as soft as your belly!"

"I shall leave you two lords to discuss this matter alone then," Sam said, pretending to be offended. Aegon's easy charm with the ladies, not to mention his impeccable manners, dress and martial skill irked the other two men, and Weyland in particular, who had been raised without any of Aegon's numerous advantages.

"As you wish" Weyland growled, obviously annoyed by Sam's suggestion that Aegon held the answer to his problem and also that Sam himself was apparently not even going to bother listening. Sam had paid him heed and offered his council before, no matter what the difficulty. But this was different. Sam knew that his two friends were truly going to need some expert advice if Weyland wasn't going to embarrass himself again as he had at the feast last night.

Sam's suggestion to involve Aegon had simply been a jape to irk Weyland and it had obviously succeeded. Sam had another, altogether better, plan. His friends needed a woman's perspective as, left to themselves, Weyland and Jon would no doubt come up with some ridiculous battle plan to carry Arya off or something equally inappropriate.

There was little doubt Jon's advice would be to 'steal' her in the wildling way and Weyland's attempts to impress her with his size and strength and his new title were the last things that would be likely to win the hand and the heart of Lady Arya Stark. Even Sam, who considered himself no expert on 'wooing' either, knew that forcing a husband on her (or opponent as that's what she would more likely think him) would never work.

While some women might wish to be stolen and won by force, Sam was certain Lady Arya was not one of them. To take her by force would only breed the simmering resentment of the vanquished. Arya would only believe herself crushed under the heel of her conqueror's boot and a resentful, subjugated woman, particularly one who was so skilled with a blade, was _not_ what any man wanted in a wife.

No, a much more subtle approach was called for in the seduction of Arya Stark. She would need to be convinced that marriage to Weyland was what _she_ wanted; otherwise she would fight it, and him, tooth and nail.

If Sam could see this, how could they not? He sighed. Perhaps he wasn't so ignorant of this 'wooing' as he thought.

Sam already has his own plans under way, ready to put into effect as soon as the situation in King's Landing had stabilized enough to allow the Hand of the King…Hand of the _Kings and Queen, _he reminded himself proudly,to be able to pay a long overdue visit to see his father.

Of course meeting his father again after all these years would not be the main purpose of the visit – the primary goal was to be reunited with those he loved who were still under his father's care. Although Sam had to admit, he would derive no little satisfaction from arriving back in Horn Hill with a retinue of Knights and the associated pomp that befitted a visit from The Hand of The Three Headed Dragon. He had even wondered if King Jon could be prevailed upon to accompany him. Jon would not leave King's Landing until Daenerys was with child and The Gods only knew when that would be. But perhaps then Sam could persuade his friend to embark on a short tour of his Kingdom, which would happen to include Horn Hill. Maybe Jon would even travel on Drogo. How much would _that_ impress his father? _See what I have become? See the company I keep – the useless, bookish son you cast out?_

Sam allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction as he hurried off to find Daenerys. He would ask The Queen to hurry to her husband's solar and talk some sense to these two love struck idiots.

Jon and Weyland watched the door close behind Sam.

"Fat lot of use he was," Weyland growled.

Jon rolled his eyes. "Best not to use that word around him at the moment."

"What word? _Fat?_"

"Yes" Jon agreed, exasperated. "He's increasing sensitive about it since we arrived here. For the first time in years we have food a plenty and this is when he decides he must limit what he eats! I don't know what's got into him. You'd think he had a woman somewhere he wishes to impress with his warrior's physique" Jon sighed.

"Well, if doesn't already, he'll no doubt be seeking one soon. That's what we all fought for wasn't it? To have a safe place to call home? A place to settle with our wives and raise our sons?"

Jon wondered if that was what he had fought for all these years. It hadn't been at the beginning. Back then, as a man of the Night's Watch, he had been prepared to die to ensure that the rest of Westeros could live in peace with their wives and sons. When had that changed? When had it become personal? When had it become about what he wanted too? Not when Stannis had offered him Winterfell. He had resisted then, but now…now he would give it all up without hesitation if it meant Daenerys could bear him sons. He wanted nothing more than to live at peace with his wife and his children on his own lands.

Weyland watched as a look he had never seen before crossed Jon's face. It was gone in an instant as Jon suppressed whatever was troubling him. Weyland knew better than to press the matter now. Jon would share any problem or worry he had when he was good and ready and besides, Weyland had enough of his own problems to deal with at the moment, without seeking more.

So, when Jon groaned, rubbed his hands over his face and repeated aloud the matter at hand, "So you want to woo Arya?" Weyland decided that focusing on his own problem at the moment would be sufficient for them both.

"Aye." Weyland admitted curtly, before realising he had better offer more detail if he expected Jon to be able to offer advice. It pained Weyland to have to speak about such things, as no doubt it pained Jon to have to listen, particularly as the topic of discussion was the seduction of Jon's youngest sister.

Weyland ran his hands through his hair and groaned as he remembered the events of yesterday. He had to disclose all, embarrassing as it was.

"Lem and Anguy tell me I need to 'woo', your sister. I am beginning to think that they are correct, as my own efforts have been…sadly lacking…" Weyland trailed off before ending with a heartfelt groan.

Jon groaned as well. His own efforts to convince Arya that she needed to marry had also been woefully unproductive. He didn't think he understood Arya at all himself, so how in seven hells he was supposed to help Weyland "woo" her was beyond him. However, Weyland had never refused him assistance before and he wasn't about to deny his friend now. So Jon had to reluctantly ask "So this wooing business is Lem and Anguy's, no doubt carefully considered, advice?"

Weyland covered his eyes with one big hand, massaging his temples and avoiding Jon's eyes as he began his tale of woe

"I have not been entirely truthful with you Jon. I can only hope you forgive me and believe me when I confess that it has been in this one matter only. I have told you no lies and this is my only sin of omission." He took a deep breath and launched into it…

"I met your sister before. Many years ago, when we were both children, fleeing from King's Landing under the protection of Yoren, a recruiter for your beloved Crows. Would you believe we were making for The Wall?"

As Weyland gave his confession, he saw shock, disbelief and finally understanding cross Jon's face.

So many things had happened to his friends and family in the last seven years that Jon did not know; perhaps would never know. Everyone had their own story of surviving the war and he was truly not entirely surprised by his friend's confession. Jon had begun to suspect as much. In fact, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders – there was still an almost unbearable weight of other matters pressing down on him, but at least he no longer had to hold himself responsible for making Weyland fall in love with his sister. After a long pause, during which time Weyland looked miserably apprehensive, Jon replied,

"I met Yoren once. He accompanied us from Winterfell, when I first left with my Uncle Benjen for The Wall. To find out that it was he who rescued Arya from King's Landing and was supposed to bring you both to me..." John shook his head, bewildered. "So many coincidences… it makes me believe there are greater powers at work here, binding our fates."

They had discussed such things before. Two bastards, who should have had nothing, yet had achieved so much. Just luck? Coincidence? Jon was convinced the Old Gods favoured them and who was Weyland to deny it?

"So I finally have my explanation as to why you were always so eager to hear my childhood stories about Arya." Jon chuckled, waggling his eyebrows at his friend.

Weyland blushed. Jon could not remember ever seeing his friend blush before and it was a most disconcerting sight. Both of them shifted in their chairs, suddenly finding opposite corners of the room entirely fascinating.

"Yes, you do," Weyland admitted rather reluctantly.

"You obviously never made it to The Wall."

Finally Weyland chuckled, breaking the tension in the room "No, we did not and I have often wondered how different things would be now if we had."

Jon laughed too. It never ceased to amaze him how one pivotal moment could change everything. What if he had never gone to The Wall? What if Robb had lived? Ygritte? It was a dangerous game playing "what if?" so he merely shook his head, gave a wry smile and let his friend continue.

"Ned Stark had been executed and Yoren was helping Arya escape from King's Landing for obvious reasons. Me – I wasn't so sure, but someone apparently paid him to take me too."

"You had no idea why?"

"I knew something was different about me – wrong with me I supposed." He snorted and ran his hand through his black Baratheon hair. "Not that I felt any different. I was just a bastard apprentice smith who had nothing except a job he loved." Weyland shrugged and his face clouded as he relived the unhappy memories, "…but two Hands of the King come to look at you and both end up dead. You know something bloody odd is going on the second time. The strangest thing at the time was that they wanted to _look_ at me. The first one…

"Jon Arryn – the one I was named after" Jon interrupted.

Weyland raised his eyebrows in surprise. Jon was named for a Hand of the King? Weyland often forgot that they weren't the same, weren't two bastards raised with nothing; that Jon had come from a life of privilege.

"Aye him. He never spoke to me; might have spoken to Tobho, but not me. Ned spoke to me though. Asked me about my mother – not that I could tell him much, but he did say to Tobho that if I ever wanted to wield a sword I should be sent to him."

Weyland stood up and slowly drew the Valyrian steel sword from his scabbard, holding it out, so that the black and red blade caught the morning sun, sending beams of light bouncing around the solar.

"And here I am; sworn shield to Jon Snow, Ned Stark's Bastard of Winterfell and custodian of 'Oathbreaker', forged from Lord Stark's own Greatsword"

"Not for much longer I hope?" Jon fought to keep the anticipation from his voice.

"No, not for much longer old friend. I promised you that. Now the war is won I will re-forge 'Ice'. Tobho tells me it will take three days and three nights." Weyland flicked his wrist and swung the Valyrian steel through the air with a dramatic 'whoosh'.

"You understand that I wish this business with Arya to be settled first?" Weyland looked at his King over the edge of his sword.

Jon knew his friend was reluctant to part with the Valyrian Steel, but he had sworn an oath and would not dishonour himself by breaking it. However, it had crossed Jon's mind that perhaps his friend sought to hold onto a final bargaining tool in case Arya refused him. Would he withhold 'Oathbreaker' until Jon could provide Arya's hand in marriage? Jon certainly hoped not, as Arya's hand was but a faint hope the moment.

Jon took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He did not want to test his theory. Damn his sister. He would not force her and doubted if he could, even if he wished it. No, she must see Weyland as a suitable choice herself and enter the arrangement of her own free will; a plan which seemed to currently teeter on the very edge of failure.

Could it be that their only hope was Lem and Anguy's suggestion of 'wooing' Arya? What a fucking mess. If they were going into battle and this was their only plan, he would have had the fool who came up with it demoted back to foot soldier.

However, as it did seem to be their only plan, Jon supposed he had to provide any assistance he could. "So you have met my sister before, yet despite this, she is not amenable to your proposal of marriage. You seek to woo her in order to…_encourage_ her to take you to husband."

"Have you a better idea?" Weyland asked wearily.

Jon shook his head.

"Then listen to my tale and then offer me your advice, for The Gods know I need all the help I can get!"

Lord Baratheon settled himself down again in a chair and began…

"We were on the run from King's Landing, from Lannister goldcloaks. At Harrentown Lannister men overcame us. Very few of us survived, and alas our protector Yoren did not. Arya insisted we bury him at least."

Jon nodded, listening intently. It was fascinating to finally be able to piece together parts of his sister's and his friend's lives during wartime.

"After that, we had no leader, just us and a few other misfits, headed for The Wall. I thought all was lost, but Arya had a plan. She was the youngest of us, but it was her plan we followed even then - to make for Winterfell where she was sure we would be welcomed with open arms by your brother Robb."

Jon rubbed his brow wearily. It was all so long ago and so many were lost. "Aye, my brother in name and he would have welcomed you Weyland. A strong arm is always of use and a Smith especially so."

"You flatter me" Weyland replied, rather sarcastically Jon thought, before he continued with his tale,

"In those days, I was not yet wise enough to avoid the unwanted attention of those who wished me dead. I still went by another name..."

"_Gendry Waters_" Jon finished for him.

"How did you know?" The man himself asked, clearly surprised.

"'Twas the name Arya shouted after you last night."

Gendry bristled. Had they been spied on? "And you know this how?"

Jon looked to Ghost. Gendry followed his gaze. He did not recall seeing the white Direwolf at all last night, but then his mind had been on other things.

"Ghost?" Gendry demanded, "You spied on me through Ghost?"

"I did not spy!" Jon said forcefully, "And nae, not Ghost…Nymeria."

"You can warg through her too?" Gendry asked incredulously.

Jon shook his head slowly, "I cannot, but yet…'tis hard to explain. I think the bond between the two Direwolves grows. I think Ghost sees or hears what Nymeria does."

"And this was the first time?"

Jon shrugged. "'Tis hard to say, as I always know I am with Ghost, but I could see him last night and yet neither of us could see you. Still I heard the name. It had to be Nymeria for she slunk out of the Great Hall after Arya."

"I had no idea," muttered Gendry, feeling very aggrieved. Yet he could hardly blame Jon for spying if neither he nor Ghost had even been there. Nymeria with her tawny pelt would have been hard, nae almost impossible, to see in the dimly lit corridor.

"There have never been together since they were young. Perhaps 'twas always the way with them?" Jon wondered aloud.

"A shared awareness?" Gendry mused. He thought on the sixth sense that came upon you in the heat of battle; an unseen blow you knew was coming that led you to duck, leaving your enemy's blade slicing through air where your head had been moments before, the reassuring certainty that your brother-in-arms guarded your back. Aye, there was something at work in those times, even amongst men.

Jon shrugged. "All I can say is that it seems to grow stronger. I had suspected, but last night was the first time I was sure."

Gendry thought on Nymeria blocking his way when he intended to leave after the harsh exchange of words with Arya over needle and of Nymeria rubbing herself on his thigh. 'Twas uncomfortable to think on. Jon could have seen it all.

"So…Gendry Waters." Jon changed the subject.

"Aye. It seems another lifetime ago. I had almost forgotten the name, although the experiences never fade."

"So you and Arya were making for Winterfell together?"

"Aye and I would have claimed we were friends. Your sister was a force to be reckoned with even then. She was only a child and a slip of a thing; called herself 'Arry and pretended to be a boy."

"Something she still attempts now I fear."

"Any man who mistakes her for a boy now needs his head looked." Gendry replied with feeling.

Jon nodded, but thought his friend was obviously looking more closely than most. There was no mistaking her sex in that red dress last night, but in her usual men's garb, at a quick glance you would only see the height, the short hair and the slim build. Jon considered most would be easily fooled, but if you looked more carefully, there was a delicacy to her features that was not apparent in even the most beautiful boy. There was a grace about her neck and the way she carried herself and even, although she tried to hide it, a curve about her hip and her arse that no man could ever posses. No, at the age of ten and seven, Arya's days of fooling anyone into thinking she was a boy were nearing an end.

"I think that might have been the first time I had ever seen her in a dress," Jon snorted.

"I have, once before." Gendry smiled at the memory of Arya in a dress in Acorn Hall "…although I'd concede she looked quite different last night." He had told her in Acorn Hall that she looked like a nice oak tree. He groaned and shook his head. Truly, his way with words had not improved much in the intervening years.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Both of them looked to the door in irritation, but both men's expressions softened when they saw it was Daenerys who sought entrance.

Jon and Gendry stood, up, Lord Baratheon bowing his head with respect, while Jon strode over to the door, delighted to see his beloved wife in any circumstance.

"My Queen, I am afraid you arrive at a most inopportune moment…" Jon began, intending to gently send her away.

"Do not try to dismiss me Jon, Sam told me of the problem and I am here to offer my advice."

Jon and Gendry exchanged surprised glances. Gendry also gritted his teeth apprehensively. It was hard enough admitting his failings to Jon and Sam, but Queen Daenerys as well? Good grief, he might as well ride off to Storm's End now and hide his head in shame.

Daenerys was full of worthy intent, bustling in and seating herself in the chair vacated by Sam, before either Jon or Gendry had a chance to argue; not that Gendry would and Jon had begun to realise that arguing with his wife when she had an idea in her beautiful head was a fruitless task. So both men sat and waited for Daenerys to begin.

Daenerys fixed Gendry with a determined look. "Lord Baratheon…last night you gave us a remarkable impersonation of your father."

Jon gasped at her directness, while Gendry looked aghast.

"Your father was notoriously fond of drink and whores. Where do you stand on this Lord Baratheon?"

"You cannot ask the man that!" Jon gasped, shocked by his wife's question. A man would never question another's drinking habits and, although he knew Gendry avoided whores, men's behaviour in relation to such things was surely no concern of a woman!

Daenerys pointedly ignored her husband's outburst, her eyes remaining on Lord Baratheon. She would have her answer.

Gendry groaned and rubbed his big hands over his face, before straightening up, looking her in the eye and replying,

"My Queen, I have heard many, many stories of my father's boundless appetite for both. As a result, I seldom drink anything but small beer, as I fear ending as he did."

Daenerys wondered if he meant ending a drunken letch or as a rotten King.

"And whores?"

"Daenerys!" Jon snapped. She went too far!

"I have no reason to avoid answering The Queen's question Jon," Gendry muttered. "I have spent too long with the men of The Night's Watch and other men of honour to find satisfaction in a paid woman Your Grace. My heart lies elsewhere."

The Queen favoured him with a small smile. Good answer. Arya would be pleased to hear that.

"You said that you seldom drank and yet last night it was noticed by all that you were well into your cups before you left…in a hurry." Daenerys said delicately, she did not wish to directly mention that humiliating slap directly. Yet.

Jon glared at his wife. A man would never cast all this up to another. His glare was once again pointedly ignored by his wife.

Gendry had his eyes fixed on the far corner of the room. "I…I foolishly resorted to wine to dull my…my…"

"Jealousy?" Arya prompted.

"Aye" Gendry nodded miserably.

"Caused by Arya declining to sit with you? Jealousy that was only increased by her dancing with every other lord?"

"And in getting drunk I only succeeded in embarrassing myself and offending Milady more. I now seek to reverse the damage I have done to my cause and am assured by my companions that wooing Lady Arya will bring her to me."

"Well, it was noted by all that, after she stuck you, she chased after you. I think a good many men would think having Lady Arya in that red dress running after you would be worth any amount of pain."

Lord Baratheon looked up hopefully "Really? They did not piss themselves laughing?"

"Well, perhaps that too," Daenerys had to smile, "but I think you left a good few jealous men behind you."

The thought seemed to give Lord Baratheon some comfort as he looked marginally less miserable than before. There certainly seemed to be no artifice about the man, for his emotions were plainly writ across his face.

"So you wish to woo Lady Arya?" Daenerys continued, causing Gendry to blush like a maid.

He gave a brief nod of his head to confirm that was indeed his intention.

"I am of the opinion all women wish to be wooed, whether they admit it or not, but you must plan your approach carefully, taking account of your intended's temperament, circumstances and expectations." Daenerys said firmly, arching one very elegant eyebrow and looking pointedly as Jon, who now found he was the one blushing like a girl.

He had stormed into Daenerys' bedchamber while she still slept and forced her into marriage with him later the same morning. Wooing had never come into it. The circumstances had demanded such haste Jon told himself, but nevertheless, she had pricked his conscience and he resolved to embark on some belated wooing of his own.

"You must tell me of what has passed between you already." Daenerys said, turning her attention back to Gendry.

Despite deciding he would rather face The Others again than have to discuss this with a woman, Gendry knew better than to refuse a direct order from The Queen, so he began hesitantly,

"The Lady Arya and I were acquainted before…before now. We first met as children, fleeing from King's Landing at the start of the war…"

Daenerys was surprised by this revelation, but she wanted to know if this Lord's intentions were truly motivated by the love he professed to bear her good-sister or if this was part of some scheme to strengthen a future Baratheon claim on the Iron Throne. Jon refused to believe that Gendry's desire for Arya's hand was motivated by anything other than love (in which term was also implied a healthy doze of lust) but Daenerys meant to find out for herself. Sam had presented her with the ideal opportunity and she did not intend to waste it.

"Pray continue…"

"Well…um…we spoke again for the first time yesterday."

"Did the meeting go well?"

He didn't need to open his mouth to confirm it had not. He looked miserable again, as if he had just been handed a sentence to a year's hard labour.

"It did not go in accordance with my expectations."

She waited for him to elaborate, nodding her head gently to encourage him to continue.

"I…ah…I had anticipated the moment of our being reunited many times…"

From the flush that crept back up his firm jaw, Daenerys was sure he had 'anticipated' much more than a conversation with Arya. No doubt he had frequently dreamt of bedding her as Daenerys knew men were wont to do, particularly soldiers, deprived for so long of female company and affection. They had to believe they were fighting for something and that their efforts would be rewarded when they returned home victorious. It was quite apparent that Gendry's expectations had been far greater than the reality.

"…I had thought about hermany times over the years. As she was Jon's sister, hearing his talking of her…er…kept my interest constant."

Jon looked rather uncomfortable, as if Gendry was giving away their secrets. Daenerys had to keep from laughed out loud at the two of them.

She could imagine them huddled around some meagre camp fire in some God forsaken place, or on some tedious march, sharing stories of family and the women they had bedded or hoped to. Daenerys wondered if she had ever been the topic of such a conversation between them and resolved to ask Jon at some opportune moment, perhaps after they had lain together and he was feeling softly disposed towards her. She might get the truth then, as any other time he would be too bound by those stupid codes men seemed to adhere to, never to talk of their feelings and dreams to women.

"So, you were expecting a joyful reunion? During which you would ask Arya to become your lady wife, which honour she would accept without hesitation?"

Gendry nodded miserably.

"But she did not accept your offer?" Daenerys asked gently.

"No my Queen she did not." Gendry took a deep breath before forcing himself to continue, "She declared that she had not thought of me since we had parted and expressed no desire to marry and was particular to point out that she had a definite aversion to marrying me. She was like steel; cold, hard and unyielding."

The Queen had to suppress a smile at his comparison. This man obviously loved steel and, given time and if he was shown the way, perhaps he could soften and bend Arya, the way he mastered his beloved metal.

Last night, Arya had slapped him, run after him and Sansa had not been sure what they were doing in the corridor afterwards. Daenerys was not sure where Arya's affections lay, but she intended to make it her business to find out.

Gendry toyed with the pommel of his own sword as he relived the encounter. After a long pause, while the three of them considered their expectations of that meeting, Gendry looked to Jon and spoke again.

"I took Needle from Arya with stealth, trickery and force"

It wasn't quite how it had happened, but it was still better than admitting he had asked for a kiss and been refused and then there was the matter of his scar…

Gendry rubbed the hard ridge of skin on his cheek. It ached now. He didn't often think of it anymore, but his whole head hurt and it wasn't just the after-effects of last night's wine. He considered himself a master of warfare and of metal, yet Arya had the power to reduce him to a green boy again. He hated being so unsure, so unprepared, making so many mistakes and having to admit them to others only added salt to the wound.

Jon groaned "Arya would not take kindly to that."

"No she did not and I fear I weakened my position still further by getting drunk last night."

Daenerys had heard enough. She was satisfied, convinced his regret was genuine and his love was true. Lord Baratheon, she decided, was honest, passionate and, to Daenerys' relief, seemed to genuinely wish to marry Arya, rather than seeking to strengthen his claim to the Iron Throne. He and Arya would make a good match.

He would temper her fire and she would strengthen his mettle.

Once you got used to his scar he was handsome, perhaps even very handsome and once he stopped acting like an unworthy bastard and got used to his role as a Great Lord, she was sure he would be firm and just. There was however no doubt he needed a strong woman by his side. His lack of lordly manners and social skills was all too apparent and his drunken behaviour at the feast last night concerning. He would need much assistance to cope with the running of a castle and lands. He needed someone determined, someone who would not tolerate the drinking or whoring that had blighted his father's life. Who better than Arya to keep him in line and ensure he did not stray into such debauchery? Arya would never tolerate such behaviour, as some women might.

Daenerys stood up to go. Immediately, as was expected, Gendry and Jon also jumped to their feet.

"I bid you good day Lord Baratheon…husband."

The two men exchanged a puzzled look.

"Err, Daenerys…you have not given us your counsel as to how Gendry should woo Arya yet."

She tried not to let them see how annoyed she was with herself at her omission. _Damn._ She had been so intent on discovering Gendry's intentions and true nature, she had forgotten all about why Sam had asked her here in the first place. She must think of some advice on wooing and quickly.

Giving herself time to think, she slowly and deliberately turned to an expectant Gendry with all the Queenly poise she could muster.

"That is a magnificent destrier you ride Lord Baratheon. Who trained the beast?"

She watched with satisfaction as his chest swelled with pride. "I did Your Grace." Affording a destrier was hard enough; a broken one had been well beyond his purse, but, to his surprise, Gendry had found himself to be very good with horses and had trained Thunder himself, albeit with some guidance from old Lem.

"Then you will know the virtues of patience and devotion. You will know how to get the animal used to your touch, your weight, your command, without losing any of the spirit that made the horse so desirable in the first place."

"Aye, Your Grace."

"I suggest you apply the same patience and devotion to wooing Lady Arya as you did to your horse…and there should be marginally less risk of Lady Arya kicking you in the head and killing you."

Gendry threw back his head and laughed loudly. The Queen had just compared Arya to his horse! That would please his Lady none, but he had to admit he could see some wisdom in it. Both had tempers that were fearsome to behold and both loved a good fight.

As he laughed and relaxed, flashing his straight white teeth, Daenerys decided he really was _very_ handsome. She turned to Jon. "The idea you and Sam have of using the army to construct a canal and aqueduct to bring fresh water…I think it a good one. King's Landing stinks and I shall leave come the summer if something is not done about the smell."

Jon looked startled.

Gendry was initially surprised that The King had chosen to share his problems and plans with The Queen, as it was not usual for a woman to be privy to such things, much less offer her opinion. But as he watched the understanding pass between them, Gendry realised this is what a husband and wife were meant to do; share their burdens and seek support from the other. He would learn that lesson and, if the Gods were willing, he would seek Arya's counsel on the running of his own lands and soon.

"I hear they have such things in Bravos. As Arya has spent a great deal of time there, I suggest you seek her opinion on the project _My King_."

"As you command, _My Queen_." Jon bowed low to his wife and the playful smiles that graced both of their faces were proof of the affection between them.

"No time like the present. Arya should be sent to survey possible locations for the aqueduct and for diversion of the Blackwater today. As we are not so far from the river and as we are at peace, I think an escort of one well armed Knight should be sufficient to ensure her safety..."

It was Gendry's turn to smile.

"…and as I think the day will be a warm one, the Knight should ensure that he has sufficient food and wine for a mid day meal, as it will undoubtedly be too hot to ride back until late afternoon. In fact I think it may be so hot that the Knight should take some soap and cool off in the river."

Gendry couldn't help but be shocked and also rather offended as Daenerys turned on her graceful heels and headed for the door. He surreptitiously tried to sniff under his arm. First Arya and now The Queen were telling him he smelled. Perhaps it was his clothes? He could not remember how long he had worn the same, meagre collection of threadbare shirts and britches. Lord Baratheon should have some new, appropriately lordly, clothes! He was so caught up in his plans for a new wardrobe for himself and his new squire too, that he did not notice The Queen pausing at the door, until she coughed politely and addressed him again.

"Lord Baratheon, when the time comes, as I hope it will, you must ensure that Lady Arya is well acquainted with '_The Lord's Kiss_'. Believe me, no woman will wish to leave your bed once you have bestowed _that_ upon her."

Gendry opened his mouth to ask, but Daenerys silenced him by saying haughtily, "Ask my King!" before leaving the solar in a swoosh of petticoats and a shake of her long, silver hair.

Gendry turned to Jon to ask, only to find the King, mouth agape and flushed scarlet. Ah, this 'Lord's Kiss' was obviously a powerful weapon and what warrior would not wish to posses such a weapon?

"Jon…?" he started to ask, only to be silence by a wave of Jon's hand as he made his way to the corner table where the cups and wineskin were placed.

"I know you won't want one, but believe me, I need a drink before we have this conversation." Jon muttered as he poured himself a large cup of wine and proceeded to down it in one go. Then to Gendry's amazement, he poured himself another and it was hardly past breakfast!

Jon contemplated the second cup and decided he would perhaps refrain after all, as he did not wish there to be any impediment to the 'discussion' he would shortly be having with his temptress of a wife.

"I shall make this brief, in order to save your embarrassment and mine and also because I have a pressing need to visit my wife in her chambers. Now about this 'Lord's Kiss'…"

**Hope you enjoyed that. See you next Friday…**


	8. Chapter 8 - A picnic

**Chapter 8**

**A picnic**

**Before I start the story, I think this is probably a good time to give you a bit of chat. We're about half way through the story and, judging by the reviews most of you are enjoying reading it as much as I am writing it. However, the last 2 weeks have been hard because it's Christmas and I have kids and a job and have had office lunches and parties and I have been shopping and wrapping and eating and all that stuff. I have been giving my all for you guys, but hey, I'm not complaining as I love doing it! As next week is The Big Day, I'm going to have a week off as there are more parties and drinking and eating lined up.**

**It's also high time I thanked everyone who has taken the time to review. Without you - it means nothing. Hope you enjoy this…**

As soon as Gendry left, Jon sent for Arya. She was, as usual, in her men's attire. For once he was pleased.

"I have an urgent task that requires your attention. You are not otherwise engaged I hope?"

She shook her head and dropped into the nearest chair, kicking her boots up on the edge of his desk, just as Gendry had done not long before. Arya began noisily munching on an apple she pulled from her pocket. Last night's efforts at conformity seemed to be forgotten and once again she had no lady-like ways about her at all.

Jon began pacing his solar. His need was genuine. Although he doubted Arya was the person to bring him the information he needed, he had to make this convincing or she would refuse to go and he wanted her to go.

"We intend to build a canal like the ones in Braavos to bring fresh water from the river into the very heart of King's Landing."

He watched for her reaction out of the corner of his eye. She did turn her head towards him. At least he had caught her interest.

"And build another to take away the foul water."

She nodded her approval. "This place stinks."

"I have the army to build it for me and I want to put the men to work as soon as possible, but I need plans, a route, constructions schedules, materials, foremen. I need everything…"

"Including the gold to pay for it?" she asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Aye." He said curtly. He wasn't going to get into a discussion about that with her. "You have been to Braavos…"

She gave him a nod of acknowledgement.

"Ride out today and report back to me with your thoughts. Can we do it? Where do we dig the channel? Any obstacles we must avoid? I need your help Arya." He hoped he sounded convincing.

"I must go now?"

_Yes! He had her_.

"Aye. Now. Every day we delay is a day wasted, another day I feed that army for no reward. I will have an escort await you at the bailey gate. Report directly back to me when you return."

"Pah! I have no need of an escort!"

May the Gods preserve him from headstrong women!

"There are 20,000 men down there, most of whom have not had a woman since winter. They will not care for your rank or your men's garb, only your…your sex. Now do not vex me Arya and do as I bid for once!"

She reluctantly nodded her agreement and rose slowly, tossing the half eaten apple nonchalantly across the room to land perfectly in his upturned helmet. It rolled around the inside one, twice, three times, before gently coming to a halt in the middle.

If he didn't wipe his helmet clean immediately, his hair would smell sweetly of apples for the next week. He stifled a snarl of irritation. Seven Hells, he loved his sister, but he would be relieved when she was Gendry's responsibility and not his.

Jon walked over to rescue his poor, sticky, sweet helmet.

Her voice at the door stopped him in his tracks, "Do you ever dream you are Ghost?"

Ah, he had wondered when she would ask this. He couldn't keep the smile from his lips.

"I used to think it a dream."

"Used to? And now brother?"

He turned around and walked over to her, gently taking her hands in his, one bare, one burned and hidden in leather as always. He had never noticed before how similar their hands were. Long, slim fingers, wide palms. His was just a bigger, harder version of hers. He smiled again. No-one was as alike to him as her. By the Gods how he had missed her.

"I spent time with the wildings. They have not forgotten as much of the old ways as we have."

She nodded, eyes wide and eager. He saw the Winterfell girl again who used to run after him and hang on his every word. This was the Arya he wanted with him, not the sullen, secretive Braavosi assassin, if assassin she was. He was still unsure of her, too wary to trust her, yet he loved her too much to XXXXXX her.

"They call me a warg. To them 'tis a rare gift, a talent that can be trained and perfected."

"To see as an animal sees?"

"Not just any animal. Do you not believe we have a connection to these Direwolves? Do you not think there is a reason we found them?"

"You found them Jon. You."

"Aye, for all of us." He sighed as he remembered that day. How he handed over the pups, thinking there was none left for him, _for the bastard_. Until he found the albino cub alone in the snow. The strange one. The outcast. Like him. And had there not been a bond between them from that day forward?

"Can you train me to do it?" Arya asked excitedly, her face lighting up.

Jon nodded as Ghost got up from the floor and padded over to them, gently butting his great head in between their entwined hands. Ghost avoided anyone other than Jon, so Arya was rather taken aback, until she realised what was really happening here, "You did that didn't you? You made Ghost come over to us."

"Not _made_ Arya. Asked."

Nymeria rose languidly and joined their circle. Jon and Arya looked at each other and smiled.

-o-

"I need food!" Gendry demanded of the first kitchen maid he saw. She was a stout, plain woman who startled and gawped at him, dropping the bag of potatoes she was carrying, ignoring them as they rolled about the stone floor.

Belatedly Gendry thought it wasn't likely that many Great Lords visited the kitchens. He should have sent a maid or a squire to carry out his bidding, like a real lord would. He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth together. _He was as much a lord as the rest of them_. He would need to remember it and act accordingly.

The woman regarded him warily, crossing her arms over her ample bosom.

"A man of your size – I'm not surprised."

Realising he would need to explain more, but resenting the time it would take, he started barking orders, as he would at his men

"I need bread and cheese and wine, a blanket or cloth for sitting upon, perhaps some cakes and all to fit in saddle bags. And cups and plates and wine, did I say wine?" He thought on his aching head. "Better make that watered wine."

She looked at him as if she was regarding her most dim witted kitchen lad.

"You mean a picnic?"

"Aye." Why hadn't he thought of that word? Probably because he only had a vague idea of what the word meant before she used it. _A picnic_. A peacetime word if ever there was one. No wonder he had never uttered it before.

"Are you riding out today Lord Baratheon?"

He nodded; rather taken aback that she knew who he was. It had only been a few weeks since Jon had bestowed that title upon him and, for at least half the time since, he had been out on the King's Road.

"Then I shall I have your peace offering for Lady Arya brought to the stables."

She gave him a sly smile and even dared wink! Seven hells, even the kitchen wenches knew what an arse he had made of himself last night!

"I am obliged." He muttered, regretting his drunken behaviour more fiercely than ever.

But at least the first part of his plan to woo Arya was underway. He headed off to the stables at a great pace to find a suitable mount for his Lady. Gendry had learned at least one lesson from yesterday. He would not repeat his mistake with needle. Nae, he would win no more battles by trickery. He meant to find her the fastest horse in The Red Keep.

Gendry normally saddled his own horse, but not today. 'Twas time to act like a lord and have someone else do his bidding.

As he marched into the stables, he called out to the nearest lad, "Where is my squire?"

The words were barely out of his mouth when Ty appeared. Gendry barely recognised him. He was clean and wearing a nearly new tunic and britches. They were too big for him, probably loaned to him by one of the smaller men of Bad Company, but still he looked much improved. His hair was long for a boy and golden. Had it sat upon a girl's head, you would have declared her a beauty for it and his face was as pretty as many a girl's. This young squire would have the ladies flocking around him in a few years, there was no doubt of that.

Gendry grinned at Ty, clasping him on the shoulder in greeting, but Lord Baratheon's good humour was not returned.

"I will prepare your horse My Lord." Ty muttered. It seemed to Gendry as if the boy was glaring at him.

"What's wrong with your face this morning? Did those old fools allow you wine last night?" Gendry demanded. Mayhaps the boy was experiencing his first hangover if he had tasted some of Lem's sour wine last night.

"'Tis not that my Lord. I can hold my wine." Ty said, squaring his shoulders and standing as tall as he could.

Gendry had to stifle laugh. He had no doubt than one cup of unwatered wine would send this pretty slip of a boy running for the nearest chamber pot to empty his stomach.

"So if 'tis not the wine caused this ill temper, what is it boy?"

"Can I speak plainly My Lord?" Ty asked, a painfully earnest expression on his scrubbed face.

Gendry jerked his head towards the other stable lad, indicating he should make himself scarce. The boy scampered away immediately.

"Of course. There should be no secrets between a Knight and his squire." Gendry smiled benignly down at Ty. Again it was not returned.

His squire's voice was high with tension, as he looked Gendry directly in the eye and said accusingly, "'Twas my understanding that a Knight must always show respect to ladies."

Gendry groaned. Ty must have seen Arya strike him last night. Was there anyone in King's Landing who hadn't?

"Is it your custom to offend ladies sir? For if it is, I intend to squire for another Knight."

Were The Gods torturing him? It seemed as if they had saddled him with a novice squire who already thought himself the Truest Knight in all Westeros.

"I can assure you that the Lady Arya is the only woman in whom I inspire such violence."

"I hope you did not give her good reason to slap you." Ty said, giving him a reproachful look.

Gendry groaned again as he remembered calling Arya a cock tease in a red dress. 'Twas a good job his young squire hadn't heard that and 'twas an even better job Ty did not yet have a sword, otherwise Gendry suspected he might have found himself challenged to a duel. The True Knight here seemingly felt obliged to defend that lady's honour.

By the Gods, how had he happened upon the most chivalrous youth in the whole of Westeros?

"Things are…ah…rather complicated between that lady and me."

"Are you saying My Lord that you are in love with her?"

Gendry playfully cuffed his squire around the ear, "Now _that_, young Ty is none of your business!"

The Squire and his Lord grinned at each other.

"As it happens, Lady Arya and I are going for a ride this morning..." The boy's grin became broader still, "So I need you to ready Thunder for me, but I will also need another horse for My Lady." Gendry grinned with pride as he called Arya his lady. He would dedicate himself to this wooing business and make it so.

"I want the fastest horse here."

The boy gulped anxiously, "That would be King Aegon's sand steed, but we are not even to exercise the beast without his say so."

Gendry briefly wondered if it would be worth risking Aegon's wrath by borrowing his damn horse, but as he would cheerfully throttle Aegon if he 'borrowed' Thunder, Gendry quickly decided against it.

"Not that one then, but the fastest horse that belongs to no King."

The grin was back on Ty's face and he beckoned Gendry to follow him down one of the rows of stalls. Half way, Gendry spied a milky white mane being tossed proudly. He hoped this was where he was being led, as a white mount would compliment Thunder's midnight black perfectly. So he was well pleased when Ty stopped at that stall.

'Twas obvious from first glance that the horse was fast; its legs were long and well muscled and its flanks sleek. The milky white hide was scarcely blemished and he had to admit he had seldom seen a prettier piece of horseflesh. As the lad carefully approached and unfastened the rope that tethered the animal, the whinnies and prancing proved that the animal was spirited too, better yet a mare, which should avoid any biting or stamping from Thunder.

Gendry gave a long, low whistle of appreciation. "Truly this magnificent beast belongs to no man? Surely such a beauty must belong to some Knight with plenty of gold?"

"Perhaps to a Knight who has fallen?" Ty suggested. "No-one has claimed her since King Jon's army arrived."

Gendry ran his hand over the horse's muscled haunch, thinking Arya, indeed anyone, would be pleased to ride this animal. "From now on, this is Lady Arya's horse and you tell all the stable boys and anyone else who asks, _Lord Baratheon_ said it is so."

"Should I ready her with a lady's side saddle My Lord?"

Gendry nearly let out a guffaw of laughter, but the boy had asked in all seriousness. Obviously Arya's reputation had not yet reached as far as the stables. Gendry was sorely tempted to say 'yes', simply to witness Arya's reaction when she was presented with a side saddle. But such jesting with Arya had done him no favours thus far, so he stifled his mirth and replied, "Nae, a regular saddle will do for _this _lady."

As Ty led the horse out of the stall, Gendry enquired if the stable lads had given the animal a name. They had not, thinking its owner must surely come to claim it. But none had come.

"I think Lightening a good name for such a fast horse. You will advise Lady Arya accordingly."

The lad nodded solemnly.

_Thunder and Lightening_. Lord Baratheon was well satisfied. This day was promising to be infinitely more agreeable than the last. Now he had to find some soap, as Queen Daenerys had so thoughtfully suggested and he would be well provisioned for this campaign. And where was his picnic? As if summoned by the thought, a skinny kitchen girl appeared clutching two, bulging bags.

"Your…your…picnic lord Baratheon" she stuttered. Her head might be bowed, but Gendry could tell her eyes never left his young squire. Still just a boy and already the girls were drawn to him! Seven hells, this squire of his was going to be a trial in more ways than one.

Leaving Ty and the kitchen girl to pack the picnic, he made his way back down the stalls of horses. As he walked, he considered that wooing a woman might be compared to laying siege. It took planning and patience, but eventually the walls would surely be breached. Having had a taste of the treasures that would be his when Arya finally opened her gates, he would not cease until he had wooed Lady Arya into surrender.

By the gods, she was going to be his!

-o-

Arya was pleased Jon trusted her enough to task her with surveying the river and the thought of a day spent outside of the stifling walls of The Red Keep was very appealing. She could easily loose her escort if she wished and claim it was carelessness on either their part or hers. No doubt Jon would have assigned some more of his trusted crows for her protection and none of the ones she had seen looked like they would be at home in a saddle. Nay, 'twould be easy to slip away once they were out of sight of the castle walls and Jon's solar.

So it was an unpleasant and unwelcome surprise to find Gendry, a stable lad and two magnificent horses, waiting on her as she strode into the bailey yard. She did not allow her attention to linger on the horses or the boy.

"Seven buggering hells" she hissed under her breath as she stopped dead in her tracks. He was dressed in boiled leather and high boots, tall and broad and bursting with male energy. She had not expected to see him again so soon and the breath went out of her when her eyes met his.

"At your service Milady" He grinned and bowed, but his blue twinkling eyes never left hers.

She was first to break their gaze. Last night had been a mistake. He had caught her off guard for he had been drunk and she had not felt herself in that frivolous red dress. Such weakness would not be repeated. She did not need a man and she did not want one either. Not even one who looked so impossibly handsome standing beside that big, black horse of his. The beast could have had the same dam and sire as the bloody Hound's horse Stranger. The timely reminder of Sandor Clegane and her true purpose was welcome indeed. She gritted her teeth and strengthened her resolve.

This was all Jon's doing, she thought angrily. Would he never cease in his attempts to have her wed? The lot of a wife was a dismal one, and 'twas not for her. Never. Ever. And Gendry wanted a wife. Jon should find him a timid, obedient little wife who would bear him lots of squalling babes and make him happy, for clearly she would not.

"Mayhaps I feel like staying in the Red Keep today." She turned on her heel, only to find herself face to face with two smirking crows.

"Ah well boys, it seems you will have the pleasure of Lady Arya's company this morning, rather than me." Gendry shouted towards them with a tone of mock regret.

_Bugger, bugger, bugger._

He was laughing at her. The crows were smirking at her. Her blood was boiling. She was better than this. A bunch of idiot men would not make her turn and run. She had been looking forward to a ride in the spring sunshine and she was changing her plans because of _him_?! This would not do. If she wanted to ride out, she would do it and it made no matter if her escort was one handsome lord or two ugly crows.

She turned around again. She would do this and take great delight in reporting back to Jon that his scheming to bring them together had failed and would _never_ succeed.

Gendry watched in amusement as Arya stomped angrily towards him. What a sight she was, with her dark hair shining in the sun and her steel grey eyes sparking with fire. God's help him; she was breathtaking when she was angry. At it seemed he wasn't the only one who thought so; his squire gawked helplessly at Arya. Poor Ty seemed to have lost the power of speech.

"Lady Arya, this is my squire Ty and Ty, this is my Lady Arya."

How dare he call her _his_ lady! And he said it with a grin; a slow, wicked, dangerous grin. She would put an end to this nonsense now.

"You presume too much _Gendry Waters_ and you will not refer to me in that way again. You are merely my escort for the day, while I undertake this task for my brother.**"**

Ahh, the ice maiden was returned, but he was confident he could melt that frozen heart, as he had last night. He bowed again, "As you wish Milady."

Seven buggering hells, he was the most infuriating man and he appeared to enjoy provoking her at every opportunity. She deliberately ignored him and took the reigns of the beautiful white horse from his squire, who seemed to have affected the position of a statue.

The deep flush of her cheeks as she pointedly ignored him pleased Gendry no end. By The Gods, he had underestimated the effect those eyes and that mouth could have on him. They sent a spark of desire shooting through him as he remembered his hips pressed against hers, his hand on her thigh, his mouth on hers. Breathing hard, he raked his eyes over every part of her, imagining what lay beneath those clothes. What he wouldn't give to see her naked! He kept his eyes on her figure as she mounted her horse, imagining how those long legs of hers would feel wrapped around his hips. Seven hells, he was behaving as badly as Ty.

Gendry gave his gawking squire a jab in the ribs. When Ty managed to tear his eyes away from Arya, Gendry gave his head an almost imperceptible shake and mouthed 'Lightning'.

Finally, Ty remembered his task and blurted out, "Your horse is called Lightning Lady Arya and his is Thunder" in a loud, breathless voice. She rolled her eyes at the names, but she rewarded the boy with a smile that spilled over him like a burst of sunshine. Gendry half expected his squire to fall to his knees with joy. And 'twas no wonder, he was sorely temped himself if it would mean she would favour him with one of those smiles.

Leaving his dumbstruck squire, Gendry swung himself up onto the massive destrier, who stamped and snorted under the weight, eager to be off.

The two animals whinnied and trotted on the spot, blowing out hot, grey mist into the morning air from flaring nostrils. Arya's mount, sensing the game was on, pranced to the side, catching Arya unawares and almost crashing into Thunder. It took a deal of strength to pull her horse back around.

"Lightning is a spirited horse. Are you sure you can handle her Arya?"

Arya did not dignify that question with a response. She merely narrowed her eyes and gave him a disdainful look. But for all her haughty demeanour, she was not as confident as she wanted him to think. She had ridden plenty of horses, well ponies, when she was younger in Winterfell, but only a few since and none like this. Travelling here with Brienne had been the first time she had been on a horse in a while and her mount then had been a docile old pack horse and not the spirited animal moving restlessly between her thighs now. Also, the ground looked a deal further away than she remembered.

She had no more time to think about it as, with an encouraging kick of his heels, Gendry let the reign loose and they were off, Lightening following Thunder, whether Arya was willing or not.

Ty ran along beside, whooping and waving as they rode out of the bailey, until they passed under the portcullis and he was finally unable to keep up. "Enjoy your picnic!" he yelled after them as they left him behind.

_A picnic?_ Jon had enticed her into this with talk of a worthy task and in truth he had planned a picnic? Her brother had no shame and Gendry had none either if they thought such tricks would win her favour. And enjoy herself? That was the last thing Arya expected to do this day.

Every one of the guards they met stood rigidly to attention as they passed through the curtain wall, across the bridge, over the dry moat and out of The Red Keep. She knew they did not behave that way for her. 'Twas a surprise to be reminded he was a great commander now and not the bastard boy from Yoren's recruits. She looked again at the magnificent warhorse, the easy way he controlled the beast, back ramrod straight, cloak billowing behind and Valyrian steel strapped to his saddle. 'Twas indeed Lord Baratheon rode before her now. He was clearly her Gendry Waters no longer.

Once through the walls, Arya was greeted by the sight and smell of an army of 20,000 men. A city in its own right, camped outside of King's Landing. It had been dark when Brienne had brought her here and Arya had not truly appreciated the number of men, tents, horses and equipment until she was amongst it.

As they rode along the rutted central thoroughfare, churned up by a thousand, nae ten thousand horses' hooves and wagon wheels, men everywhere stopped and turned to stare.

The first time she heard the shout of "Baratheon!" she assumed 'twas merely one of his men calling out to him, but as the cry was taken up by more and more voices and as men dropped what they were doing and ran to see him, she realised, with a growing sense of awe and dread just how much he had changed and what he had become.

The chant of "Baratheon, Baratheon!" carried on by hundreds of men's voices was shocking. As more and more joined in, she heard and saw swords being crashed against shields and feet stamped to increase the melee of noise.

No wonder Jon sought an alliance between the crown and House Baratheon. 'Twas clear to her now that these men would follow this Lord as they had followed his father before him. But would they follow a Baratheon against a Targaryen king? It had happened before, she though uneasily.

With the war cry of "Baratheon!" ringing in her ears, Arya finally understood Jon's need to bind this lord inexorably to the Three Headed Dragon. And he expected her marriage to Gendry to do it. She was to be used to keep House Baratheon loyal to the Iron Throne. Her stomach roiled as the hard reality of her situation hit home.

When Gendry reached under his cloak and pulled out a war hammer, the roar was deafening.

And then everything happened at once. Gendry hauled on his reins and Thunder bunched the great muscles of his flanks, gave a snorting squeal and reared. Huge iron clad hooves pawed the air as the destrier prancing with Gendry swinging the war hammer through the air.

The bellowing roar of approval from the men was too much for Arya's horse and it panicked, rearing too, tossing its head, wide eyed and squealing as Arya fought to keep control. As her horse plunged forwards and down, Thunder was instantly beside them, with Gendry side stepping his destrier in front of Lightning, hanging out of the saddle, trailing his free hand down almost to Thunder's flank, catching her horse's bridle and hauling her to his side. Arya could not make out his words above the noise of horses and men but she cursed him as loudly as she could, hoping he would hear her.

Lightning was immediately calmed by Thunder having four hoofs back on the ground. Amid laughter and bawdy shouts, Arya brought her horse back under control. But even then, Gendry did not relinquish control of the bridle and led her horse behind his. She tugged on the reins, wishing to separate them, but his hold was firm and Lightning was more than happy to follow.

To Arya's humiliation, he led her horse the rest of the way through the corridor of men and, although she tried to close her ears to it, she heard shouts of "House Stark" and "Lady Arya" and worst of all, "bedding" amongst the continuing cries of "Baratheon!" She ground her teeth and thought of the worst names she could to yell at him as soon as they were free from this hell.

As the rows of tents began to thin out, he finally released her horse. She kicked her heels angrily to Lightning's flanks and her horse shot forwards, Arya did not allow Lightening her head though and wheeled the white horse around, screaming at him, venting all her pent up anger and humiliation.

"How could you be so stupid…so arrogant…so vain as to pull a stunt like that?! You big Baratheon oaf!" she raged, turning her horse in a circle around him.

"Have you nothing to say for yourself?" she yelled furiously, her eyes blazing as he sat impassively atop that hellish horse.

"You'll make your horse giddy."

By the Gods, she could stand him no longer and yanked her horse around before allowing Lightning her head. This is what the white horse had been bred for and Arya could feel it as Lightening tore forwards. Arya crouched low over the horse's straining neck as the two of them headed into the wind, across the plain and away from him, as fast as they could go.

Gendry held Thunder back, feeling the gathered strength under him as the big destrier stamped, trotting on the spot, eager to be off. But first he wanted to watch Arya. She looked wonderful, balancing with her toes in the stirrups, heel, knee and shoulder in a tight line, bending forward, riding the motion of the horse with her arse in the air.

When she was a good distance away, he finally kicked his heels to his horse, feeling power exploding under him as Thunder plunged forward.

Gendry knew, one way or another, he was going to be chasing after Arya for the rest of his life, for he would not risk losing her again.

-o-

Arya had run her horse as far and as fast as she could. Although there was no longer a purpose to her day, her horse needed water and so did she. Stopping by the river was a sensible thing to do. She followed the course of the river for a while, keeping Lightning to a trot and then slowing to a walk, giving the horse a chance to cool down before they stopped for rest.

She had no doubt Gendry would catch up with them soon and then she would have to face him again. Her anger had dissipated somewhat during the ride, 'twas impossible to stay mad with the sun on your back, the wind in your hair and such a glorious horse beneath you. She patted Lightning's neck gratefully. She would like to ride like this every day and wondered how difficult Jon would make it. When she 'reported back' to him as he had asked, she did not intend to temper her anger at his continued interference in her life. But she also wanted him to teach her to see through Nymeria's eyes. Perhaps she might have to temper that anger after all, she thought with a sigh.

The river formed a lazy 'S' shape here and there was a slower moving area that was being separated from the main flow by silt accumulated on the bend over years. One day, perhaps soon, it would be blocked entirely. A pool would be formed and the river would flow straight again, but for now, it looked like an excellent place to stop and water her horse.

She slid off Lightning's back and led the tired horse down to the water. She had the horse unsaddled and was lying on her back in the sun, by the time Gendry and Thunder arrived. She could feel the earth below her vibrate as the big, iron clad hooves pounded over the ground. She deliberately did not sit up, although Lightning was quick to whinny a welcome.

She heard, and felt him jump down and move around, no doubt leading his horse to the water as she had. It would be easiest to ignore him, she decided. She would just lie here peacefully until Lightning was rested and she was ready to return and, in truth she was in need of a rest herself. She had only slept fitfully the night before, because of her dreams of Nymeria and now her horse riding muscles in her legs, her bottom and shoulders, unused for too long, were beginning to stiffen and ache. But 'twas a good ache and the sound of the water, the birds in the trees and the occasional snickering of her horse was soothing. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine she was here herself, for hadn't she always been happiest when she was alone? That way there was no-one to annoy you or let you down.

Gendry was not surprised she was choosing to ignore him. He had expected it. 'Twas all or nothing with her. She was either raging hot or icily cold. He most definitely preferred her when she was full of fire and preferably melting against him. Patience, he told himself, would triumph over haste and besides, he was hot and dusty. She had chosen a good spot and he intended to remove the grime and smell of the ride before he continued with his wooing.

After seeing to Thunder and laying out the picnic things, he unceremoniously stripped off and waded into the water. He took care to do it where she could get a good view, but not so close that she would feel inclined to get up and remove herself. Nae, a retreat would not suit him now. He wanted to engage her in a skirmish, but on his terms.

Gendry came up whooping and streaming water, shaking his head violently to whip the sodden hair from his eyes. The sun was warm on his back, but out in the water, the wind was chill enough to remind him this was still only spring and summer was a long way off.

He realised she was watching him, surveying his nakedness with brazen curiosity. But as soon as he caught her looking, she turned away, with a haughty, dismissive shrug. He grinned.

"Come in, the water is fine."

"I am fine where I am."

_Aye, watching me_, he thought with satisfaction.

She withdrew to the blanket as he plunged under the water again. He amused himself with floating on his back and splashing for no particular reason, all the while hoping she was paying sufficient attention. He even made a show of soaping and rinsing himself twice over. The things he would do for love, he thought wryly as he washed the second lot of stinging soap from his eyes.

When he finally clambered up from the bank, naked and dripping, he was sorely disappointed to find her laying flat on her back on the blanket snoring softly. He was tempted to go and shake himself over her, as a dog might, in order to wake her up, but he liked the contented sound of her sleeping and, if truth be told, he was rather tired himself. Years of soldiering meant he could fall asleep anywhere, anytime; in the saddle, standing up, it made no matter. Lying on a blanket on the ground next to Arya would be no hardship at all.

As he laid his sword out beside him, so 'twas always to hand, as was his habit, he smiled as he saw needle close to hers. They were more alike that she would care to admit. She would learn that he could be as stubborn as she, once he put his mind to something. And he had put his mind to wooing her.

He laid himself down beside her, clad only in his britches, but chaste and untouching. Wooing he was sure, didn't allow for seeking pleasure at every opportunity. So he lay beside her, thinking on a knight and his lady he had once seen carved in stone, laying like this, atop a tomb. There would be plenty of time for pleasure to come he was sure. There was bond between them, he knew it and did not doubt she felt it as well, although she would no doubt deny it if asked. Perhaps it scared her. Slow and steady would win him this race.

-o-

When Arya awoke, she was aware of that wondrous _thump-thump_ again. She let the rhythm sooth her, feeling warm, safe, dreamy, sleepily aroused. She didn't want to open her eyes, although she knew she would.

When she did, she saw no white Direwolf this time. She was lying with her head on Gendry's shoulder, his arms draped around her, his hand on her breast. Reality came crashing in on her. She shoved him away from her, lashing out with her fists and feet, yelling "Get off me!"

He had been sleeping soundly and the rude awakening startled him. He moved so fast, she was slammed backwards onto the blanket before she could get away from him. He covered his body with his own, pinning her down, one big hand over her mouth, silencing her, as he scrabbled around for his sword with his free hand.

She bucked up against him, trying to throw him off or at least knee him between his legs, but he was much larger and heavier and after a brief, fierce struggle, he managed to trap her beneath him so she couldn't budge. She tried to bite his hand, but his strong fingers held her jaw clamped shut.

"Lie still you little fool!" he snarled, as he craned his neck around, searching for any threat, his sword in his hand. She could feel his heart slamming against hers, his ragged breathing and realised he had awoken thinking they were being attacked. In truth he had been. By her.

Seeing nothing, he loosened the hold on her mouth as his breathing slowed. She was trapped beneath him and she couldn't escape. She wasn't sure she wanted to.

"That is no way to wake a man up Arya. Particularly one who has seen more than his fair share of fighting" he growled.

It was clear being woken so suddenly had not put him in the best of moods.

She shook her head from side to side, trying to talk, trying to shout at him. He loosened his hold enough for her to yell "Your hand was on my breast!"

"I was asleep!" he snapped, then he gave her a sudden, sly smile, "Perhaps you put my hand there in an attempt to seduce me and then changed your mind."

How dare he suggest she would try to seduce _him_! He was the most infuriating man she had ever met!

"Get off me you big…" she managed to shout, before he clamped his hand over her mouth again. She bucked up against him in a vain attempt to throw him off. Then, disconcertingly, she realised he was hard and aroused and getting harder the more she bucked.

"Now that is a dangerous thing to do with a man lying atop of you lady" he murmured against her ear. "A man might take that as an offer." His voice was soft, taunting.

"An offer to get off me!" she mumbled against his hand, but she didn't dare move and lay stock still. This time he bumped against her. Just a small movement and she wasn't even sure it was deliberate until he did it again. She could feel a heat building between her legs where the hardness of him pressed against the softness of her. She knew she should be trying to get her hands between them to try and push him away, but there was simply no room, truly, he was crushing himself against her so.

He bumped her again. She shivered, not sure why, as he had no shirt on and the heat coming from his skin was ferocious. She felt his warmth on her breasts, making her teats harden, even through layers of bindings and clothes. She had no idea what was going on in her body, only that it was out of her control and getting worse, far worse, with every bump.

"What do you want from me Arya?" he whispered harshly.

She turned her face away from him. In truth she did not know. Her lips, her breasts, between her legs, everything was on fire. She couldn't think clearly. She wanted him closer still, yet she wanted him gone. She wanted to lie like this forever yet half hoped he would move away.

They were lying together she thought dizzily. They were lying together, like men and women do, yet with their clothes on. This was what happened between men and women and had happened since the beginning of time she presumed. It was nothing to do with him and her. He could be any man, she could be any woman and her body would react like this.

"What…do…you …want?" he persisted, his breath hot against her ear. This is not what she wanted…was it? He bit her ear lobe gently, sending a wave of pleasure coursing through her. Why was she resisting? She wanted this, she wanted…

"More" her voice was a hoarse whisper. She knew he was smiling in triumph and she didn't care.

He put his knee between her legs and prised them apart, settling himself more fully against her before he bumped against her again, the hard ridge of his erection making her tremble and grow wet in the place where he pressed. She lost her breath as sensation danced through her. She felt strange, unsettled, anxious, wound tight but still she wanted more…much more.

"This would be easier if you wore a dress." He muttered, moving between her legs. She felt his hand, warm and strong pulling up her undershirt, shockingly brushing against the skin of her stomach, then on the laces of her britches. She helped him, tugging at the laces as he lifted his hips up. She wanted to get them undone as quickly as possible, needing to feel him hard against her again.

To her surprise he did not seem to want them off, but his hand was on her, warm, long fingers stroking down, caressing, finding her damp, secret place as a shiver of something swept over her body. Her skin was hot, her stomach in a knot, the fire between her legs burning as she arched her hips up towards his hand in silent need.

When he slid one finger inside her she jerked at the sudden invasion. "Do you want me to stop?" he whispered.

"Nae," she replied, breathlessly, the word swallowed by his mouth over hers, his tongue teasing hers. But of course she wanted him to stop, this was madness, this was the road to disaster…this was…wonderful.

He slid a second finger inside her and his thumb rubbed against that most sensitive part at the top of her legs. She wanted him to stop, she wanted him to go faster, she wanted…oh, she wanted…she wanted…

Her body arched rigid beneath his as a thousand tiny explosions of light shot through her. His hand stifled her cries and it seemed to last forever before she went limp beneath him. Falling back down from the heights she had just soared to, she hid from him, mortified, pressing her face into his shoulder. He was going to laugh at her, mock her for giving in to him so easily, she just knew it. He removed his hand from her mouth and gently turned her face towards his.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, before he kissed her.

**Hope you enjoyed that. The next chapter has to be The Lord's Kiss…**

**Until then, Merry Christmas.**


	9. Chapter 9 - The Lord's Kiss

**Chapter 9**

**The Lord's Kiss**

**Ok, it's a bit later than usual, but with only 5 hours sleep and starving my husband and kids it still wasn't ready.**

**Thanks as always to Brazilian Guy for his inspiration and a special mention to Mrs Jessie Pinkman as I stole her line about a real life horse's arse! **

"No-one has ever told me I was beautiful before…or has done that to me before."

Gendry liked that. "I will gladly tell you how beautiful you are and give you pleasure such as that, aye and more, everyday for the rest of our lives, if you will have me."

If she would have him? Arya wanted everything he had to give her and more. She rubbed the back of her hand against his hard stomach, sliding it down further between them until her fingertips touched his laces. Before her hand found what she was truly seeking, he grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

"If we are to avoid my getting a child on you, I would be best to keep my britches on."

"Can I not…pleasure you the way you pleasured me?" she asked, a little breathless.

"You would do that for me?"

She was pleased by the eagerness of his reply and the hopeful look on his face. She wanted to touch him, feel skin against skin, but she made do with running her hand down the outline of his shaft as it strained against the rough material of his britches, smiling at his sharp intake of breath. She ran her hand up and down again. He let out a strangled groan as she did. Arya was secretly thrilled that she could obtain from him the same sort of reaction he had been able to draw so easily from her.

"Are there not ways…to…to…can you not…?" she stammered, before falling silent, embarrassed by what she wanted to ask.

"Bring us both pleasure without spilling my seed inside you?"

She bit her lip and nodded.

"You must not be afraid to ask for what you want Milady."

"But…I do not know what I want." The words came out in a breathless tumble. She wanted, oh she wanted, but she did not know quite what or how to ask for it.

"Do you want my cock inside you?"

The crudeness of his words both shocking and thrilling her. Yes, that was what she wanted. She wanted his cock inside her, she wanted it as badly as she had ever wanted anything.

"Yes there are ways." He gave her a wolfish grin, "But first I want to see you naked Arya. I want to lay you down on a featherbed with warm covers, bestow the Lord's Kiss upon you and claim you as my own."

"The Lord's Kiss? But you have kissed me senseless already."

"Aye, but not there." He bumped his hips against hers again and she felt his shaft hard against that tender place, sending another thrill through her and another surge of wetness to soak her smallclothes. Where did he mean? He very slowly and very deliberately bumped her there again,

"Surely you do not mean…there?"

"Oh aye lady, I do."

Then to her surprise, he rolled off her and onto his back beside her. "We must stop."

"Why must we?"

"For I will not have you for the first time out here on the hard ground and I do not know if I will be able to hold back if we go much further."

"I do not mind, really I do not." But even as she said it, she took a surreptitious look around wondering if anyone had already seen them. She saw nothing except their two horses, grazing peacefully by the side of the river.

"Aye, but I mind and I we will do this properly Arya. But let us lie here awhile before we go back, for we have matters to discuss you and I."

She blew out a low sigh. She hoped he did not mean this marriage business. What was wrong with taking pleasure when the opportunity arose? Was that not what Sam had said, "_Those who have been through the seven hells should take happiness where they found it_"? And Gendry had made her happy, aye he had made her squirm with it. 'Twas nothing to be ashamed of, she decided – he was a handsome man and he knew how to please her. She liked his sky blue eyes and his smiling mouth. She liked that he was both familiar and a stranger to her and she liked that he was bigger and stronger than her. It made her feel both a little scared and protected at the same time. It was exciting. He was exciting.

Still, she would be need to be practical. He was a man, no longer a boy. She was no longer a girl, or she wouldn't be soon if he kept his promise, she thought wickedly, 'Twas all only natural and hardly surprising.

She would purchase some moon tea. They would take pleasure from each other while they could as Sam had suggested. Gendry would surely be pleased, for she would make no other demands on him; he would still be free in the future to find himself an obedient little wife who would make him happy and she would be free to complete her revenge and, thereafter, providing she survived, do as she pleased. If he mentioned marriage again, she would tell him so, but she hoped he would not mention it just yet.

Gendry pulled her tightly to him with one arm and crossed the other behind his neck, supporting his head and giving him a better view of her. Her dark hair shone in the afternoon sun, little wisps of it curling around her ears and waving gently in the occasional spring breezes that sighed over them. Whatever Arya had done to her hair made her look infinitely more feminine. He wondered if she realised. He resolved not to point it out, as he doubted that would please her. She really seemed to have no idea how beautiful she was and was even oblivious to the fact that every man in the Great Hall had his tongue hanging out and a tent in his britches at the sight of her in that red dress.

Why she chose to wear such ugly clothes was beyond him. Perhaps when he was ordering himself some new clothes, he would commission some for her too. Oh, not dresses, for she would not thank him for them, but perhaps britches of the softest brown leather and shirts of silk, that would cling to her form in all the right places. Ah, but then maybe he wouldn't want other men to see the firm globes of her breast or the sweet curve of her arse. This was not doing anything to lessen the discomfort in his too tight britches and 'twas a dilemma he had not happened upon a solution for when she interrupted his daydream,

"I should have thanked you."

Really? Did she not realise he was hoping she would show her appreciation for the pleasure he had given her when they returned to The Red Keep?

"There is no need to thank me. Your pleasure is my pleasure Arya." And was it not true? To see her face as she came apart under him was a wonderful thing to behold.

"I did not mean that!" She bumped her elbow against him playfully. "I meant when Aegon made that jape at the feast and you stood up for me."

He snorted. "Aegon can be an arse. I was not going to let him praise your sister and slight you when you were the more beautiful by far that night."

Arya screwed her eyes shut and her stomach clenched in a tight knot. Was he joking? Would he joke about this when he called Aegon 'an arse' for doing the same thing? She thought not, but she was not fool enough to think herself comparable to Sansa.

"Do not tease me Gendry, for I do not like it." She tried to make light of it, to sound as if she didn't care, yet she heard the tremble in her voice and cursed herself for it. When she opened her eyes, she had to quickly turn them to the sky. His eyebrows were knitted together and he looked angry, annoyed.

What was wrong with her that she could not see how beautiful she was? "I am not teasing Arya. Why can you not see in the mirror what everyone else sees – a very beautiful woman? Are the men of Braavos all blind? What has happened to you and where have you been that you have not had a man tell you every single day how beautiful you are and hear him thank the Gods every night for his good fortune?"

Should she tell him that she had been hiding? Hiding behind other faces and guises, learning how to disappear and perhaps loosing a bit of herself in the process. She had tried to hold onto Arya Stark, despite the Kindly Man's instructions to the contrary, but had some of her been lost in The House of Black and White? Mayhaps that bit of her that could trust and forgive and love? She shook her head and gave herself a mental shake. She was being a sentimental fool.

"I just like hearing you say it stupid." She gave him what she hoped was a flirtatious little smile, like the ones she had seen other woman give to men when they wanted to distract and disarm them. "Now will you tell me how you came to be Lord Baratheon? For I have not congratulated you on that either."

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. That false smile of hers did not fool him. 'Twas obvious she was avoiding his questions, just as he avoided hers. Once again their similarities were all too apparent. What to tell her about his rise to Lord and what to leave out? He wasn't secure enough of her affection yet to confess all. Not yet, but soon. His scar itched and he dampened down the itch to scratch it. That confession would come later, but he would make a start on the rest now,

"I owe it all to Brienne of Tarth."

That was obviously a good start as Arya pushed herself up, leaning her arms across his chest and settling her chin on the back of her crossed hands, eager to hear his tale.

"After Beric died, The Brotherhood was in trouble."

"Beric really died?" She sat up, shocked. Although, Beric had died many times before, she had assumed that the trick to bring him back could ever be repeated. "Could Thoros not raise him as before?"

"No, and that is a different tale, for another time. Shall I continue with this one?"

She nodded, settling down again on his chest to listen. He breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"There were ah…certain of The Brotherhood who wanted rid of Brienne for her alliance with Jaime Lannister."

"I hear she is in love with him." Arya whispered wickedly.

"Aye. And The Kinglasyer has got a good one there. I only hope he appreciates her."

Arya sniffed. There was that pang of green jealousy again. She told herself she was being foolish, for on the crossing from Braavos, Brienne had only claimed, with pride, to be great friends and allies with Lord Baratheon. Of course Arya had no idea then, who Lord Baratheon would turn out to be.

"Brienne claims I reminded her of Renly Baratheon from the moment she laid eyes on me. Has she told you of him?"

Arya shook her head. Had Renly not been on the Small Council when her father had been murdered? And had he not fled King's Landing without lifting a finger to help her father? Arya had him down for a coward and had not been sad to hear he had died. 'Twas just one less self proclaimed King to worry about.

"She may love Jaime now, but her heart belonged to Renly first and I think she took a liking to me because of that. Do you remember that hell spawn Biter? A companion of that Jaqen you took a liking too?"

Arya startled at the mention of Jaqen's name. How much did Gendry know? She had never told him of Jaqen's parting gift. Had she? She nodded hastily, not wanting to discuss Jaqen H'ghar and the path he had set her upon. Must all of their conversations be so awkward and fraught with traps?

Gendry gave her a queer look, but he continued, "Biter was the first man I killed. I put a spear through the back of his neck to save Brienne…and there have been too many more since."

If she wanted, Arya could have counted how many she had killed by the time Gendry had first blood on his hands, but she did not wish to remember, not here in the sunshine, with the sparkling water and his heart beating in time with hers.

"We became close Brienne and I. I told her about Yoren being paid to take me from King's Landing and that two Hands' of The King had wanted to look at me and that both wound up dead shortly after."

Arya did not want to think on her murdered father either and urged Gendry on to complete his tale.

"Brienne guessed the reason for their interest in me, although she had not yet confided her thoughts to me. I was still a boy in those days without the guts to stand up for what I knew to be right, but the bold Brienne saw something in me I had not admitted to myself. When she was condemned, I did not know what to do, for we were friends by then, but I did not want to go against the will of The Brotherhood. She was to be hanged and…"

"Hanged?! No!" Arya sat up again, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Aye." How would it go when he finally had to tell Arya 'twas her own mother, or that abomination of her mother, Lady Stoneheart, who had given the order? That it was Lady Stoneheart who had scarred his face during the ensuing fight? That it was he who had, finally, killed her mother? He forced himself not to think on that now, "When Brienne had her head in the noose she shouted one word, one word that spurred me into action and set me on the path that led me to where I am today."

"And the word was?"

"_Baratheon_"

There was silence as they both pondered on the consequences of that one shouted word.

He was the first to speak, "I knew it Arya, deep down I knew it, but I needed someone to believe in me. I needed something to force me to step forwards and claim my father's name. Brienne did that for me and here I am. Lord Baratheon. My sword there…" he nodded to it lying, gleaming in the sunlight beside him, "'Tis called 'Oathbreaker', a gift from Brienne for saving her life."

"Valyrian steel?" Arya asked, itching to touch it, to test it, to learn for herself if the myths about such swords were true.

He nodded. "Tis a magnificent sword and I shall be sad to see it go."

"Go? Where?"

Another deep sigh, "Brienne was given it by Jaime, who named it 'Oathkeeper'. The Lannisters had Tobho Mott forge this one and another, 'Widow's Wail' from your father's great sword."

Arya looked at the blade, in horror this time, no longer wishing to touch it or be anywhere near it. The 'widow' of 'Widow's Wail' would be her mother. 'Twas all Arya could do to choke down her own wail of regret and despair. She wanted to hear no more about it and she did not wish to hear of the other awful events which resulted in Brienne changing the sword's name from 'Oathkeeper' to 'Oathbreaker'.

"Jon has the other sword and has asked me to re-forge 'Ice'. 'Tis another task I must attend to before I leave King's Landing."

"And you can do that? You can forge Valyrian steel?" There were few men alive who had such knowledge and she was taken aback that he could be one.

Gendry shrugged, as if 'twas nothing of consequence she asked. "I have not done it before, but I will. Tobho is old and sick, but he will guide me and Sam has books with the spells. He tells Jon that, as there are Dragons in the world again, the re-forged sword will be even more magnificent than before and Jon wants that sword."

Arya was not surprised to hear Jon coveted 'Ice' so much, for it belonged to the Lord of Winterfell and symbolised the power of House Stark and of the North. In claiming the sword, Jon would be claiming all it represented. The thought sat uneasily with her. What of Bran? Jon said he was in Winterfell and had begun the task of rebuilding the castle as his name-sake 'Bran the Builder' had first constructed it. Should the sword not be his?

"I hear your brother Bran is no warrior."

Had Gendry read her thoughts or had she said aloud what she was thinking?

"Jon will have the sword Arya and there is no-one to gainsay him on this."

"Not even you? House Baratheon has no Valyrian steel. Why not keep this sword for yourself?"

"I swore my oath to Jon long ago. I will not break my vow now." He growled, leaving her in no doubt there would be no changing his mind. "In return for my fealty, all of the Storm Lands, the great castle of Storm's End and my title were given to me, by The Three Headed Dragon. They belong to _me_. I burn to leave King's Landing behind and claim what is rightfully mine."

"Then why do you linger?"

"Is the answer not obvious Arya? I have waited for you, in order that we may claim Storm's End together."

"Oh." _Fuck! _No matter how she tried to avoid it, their conversations kept coming back to marriage or Braavos or Jaqen or Valyrian steel or countless other things that neither of them wished to discuss. Every word that passed between them was like a duel; thrust, parry, both of them testing the other, avoiding anything that might end the duel prematurely, as if needing to size up their opponent's strengths and weaknesses. She had no intention of riding to Storm's End unless the bloody Hound was hiding there. She needed to steer the conversation back onto safer ground,

"But much must have happened since Brienne shouted that word to cause those soldiers to shout your name as they did today."

"My name? Aye, but 'tis not Gendry they are prepared to fight and die for Arya. They fight to protect what they have and they fight to gain something better. Lord Baratheon, wielding his war hammer, is a symbol for them, a call to arms, a promise of protection and success in return for fealty. If my 'stunt' as you put it, with my horse and my hammer, rallies men to me, encourages men to follow me, to believe in me, then I shall use it as a weapon against my enemies."

"The men did seem impressed." She admitted, rather grudgingly.

He snorted, "And you were not?" She did not answer. In truth she was, but 'twould not do to tell him. She thought him arrogant enough already.

"Do not mistake me for the boy you used to know Arya. While I am still Gendry, I am no longer 'Waters' for I have claimed my father's name and all that goes with it."

He played with her hair, letting it slide through his fingers, stroking the back of her head, the nape of her neck. He wanted her so much and not just to lie with her. He wanted to claim her as his own, even more than he wanted to take Storm's End. He wanted to make Arya his for ever, protect her, to make sure no-one could ever touch her or hurt her again. He ached for them to be settled in Storm's End, to have a home where they could plan their future together, in peace.

They both sighed. Him, for the troubles he still had to deal with in the Storm Lands and because of his desire for Arya. Her, for the implications of his lordship; his need for marriage and heirs and Jon's wish to bind House Baratheon to House Targaryen. Arya groaned, Jon thought his own marriage to be so bloody wonderful he seemed intent on forcing everyone else down the same path. However, she was not going to mention that now, for had Gendry not just given her the most delightful pleasure and was she not eager for more?

Nae, she did not want to jeopardise the promise of 'more' by arguing with Gendry about his bull headed plan to marry her. Plenty of people enjoyed 'relations' without being wed. In that respect, Braavos had been a revelation. Perhaps it was the heat as, although she had been only a child in Winterfell, she was sure that there was not nearly as much carnal activity in the North as in The Free Cities. Perhaps the men of the North had to keep it well hidden in case it froze and broke off. She wondered if that was the real reason those Bloody Crows took a vow of celibacy – fear of snapping their frozen cocks off. She rolled that forbidden word silently around her mouth. _Cock_. Oh, the thrill it had given her to hear Gendry ask if she wanted his cock inside her. Next time he asked, she would not hesitate, she would say 'oh yes, now please'. The excitement and the naughtiness of it made her giggle.

"What amuses you Arya?"

Oh, she had forgotten herself and become lost in lustful thoughts of carnal relations. She wriggled against him as she said 'Nothing'. Denying everything, while at the same time feeling how wet she was between her legs and how her breasts tingled and her nipples tightened, even under their bindings. Oh, she did not want to wait, but he had told her she must, and she did want to hear the rest of his tale about becoming Lord Baratheon.

"So Jon pronounced you Lord before the battle for King's Landing?"

"Ah, well, 'twas not really a battle at the end of it. We had to break the siege, for if Queen Daenerys had truly let loose her dragons upon us then the outcome would have been a forgone conclusion."

"I know that bit." Arya said impatiently, "I've heard about Aegon's scheming and his trickery to force Daenerys into a marriage with Jon to end the war."

"Aye, well, 'twas his idea, true enough, but we all played our part and can you deny it has worked out well for all concerned? Our army was not roasted alive by Dragon's breath and the occupants of King's Landing did not starve to death."

She felt him shrug under her, "I can think on many worse outcomes for The Realm and for us all." Then he paused for a while, saying nothing but stroking her hair. She could tell he was smiling again, "Jon and Daenerys have made a rare match, have they not? I have never seen two people more caught up in each other than they are. Has Jon told you he scaled the walls of the Queen's tower and stole her in the wilding way?"

"No!" Arya pushed herself up onto one elbow and stared at him, intrigued. Seven Hells, lying like that, his eyes seemed to be reflecting the pale blue sky above. She could not look into them, for fear she might fall in and never manage to climb out again. She wrenched her eyes away to look down at his chest. She trailed her finger tips through the silky black hair that stretched across the middle and down, wondering where that trail ended. Oh, this was almost as much of a distraction as his eyes. She must take a firm hold of these lascivious thoughts, or she might be tempted to beg him for his Lord's Kiss here and now and she did not want to beg. Never. Ever.

"Would you have liked that Arya? If I had come through your window and stolen you away?"

She looked up quickly; only to find that he had his eyes shut. Probably because he knew what her reaction would be and he was concerned she would spit in those sky blue eyes of his. "Had you tried, you would not have lived to see another day," she said, keeping her voice low, hoping it sounded menacing, as she wanted to leave him in no doubt that she would not tolerate such…such…possessive behaviour. She could not be stolen as if she was a horse, or a sack of grain!

"I thought you might say that," he chuckled, "that's why I thought it a better plan to woo you."

"Woo me?" She repeated in surprise; not quite sure what he meant or, if she was being completely honest with herself, why anyone at all would want to 'woo' her.

He opened one eye and peered at her, squinting against the sun.

"Aye, woo you. What else would you call this picnic? And that little pleasure I gave you earlier?"

"Oh. I had not thought it so well planned." So, he had intended her to lie beside him, nae, _under him _all along! He had expected her to melt under his touch. He hadn't even had to try very hard, for she had succumbed easily enough. All he had to do was touch her and she was prepared to open her legs for him and truly, her only regret was that he had not gone further. _Seven buggering hells._ Perhaps she was susceptible to this wooing after all.

"Oh Aye, and I am not finished yet." He said, a sly grin playing on his lips.

"You are not?" she couldn't help but be intrigued by what else he had planned, and truly it was hard to keep her face impassive and not grin right back at him.

"I have it on good authority that you will adore my Lord's Kiss and that when I bestow it upon you, will never wish to leave my bed," he said smugly.

She bristled with jealous rage. "On whose '_good authority_' do you have this Gendry?"

'Twas all she could do not to slap him again or maybe even stab Needle into his heartless chest there and then. How could he lie there smiling and tell her another woman had adored his bloody Lord's Kiss? Perhaps even the woman who had scarred his face? Damn him to the seven hells! 'Twas obvious he was more experienced than her, but did he have to cast it and his other women up to her? Mayhaps it was that Tyrell bitch who had been all over him at the feast. She looked as if she could teach any man a thing or two.

When he didn't immediately answer, she demanded, "Who adored it Gendry? Who?"

There was panic in his eyes as the magnitude of his mistake began to dawn, and she watched his mouth move wordlessly before he finally managed to utter a strangled, "Umm…umm…'tis not as you think Arya!"

"And you know what I am thinking do you? Can you tell I want to gut you right now you heartless pig, oaf, you horse's arse!" She could control herself no longer and punched him.

"Oof! Oof! Oof!" he grunted as every blow hit its intended target. Then she was up and stalking off to her horse as quickly as she could, as quickly as she could to get away from him! She might have run if she hadn't thought it would give him the impression that she was fleeing and crying. And if she was crying, they were only tears of rage!

She was almost by Lightning when Gendry grabbed her arm and spun her around.

"At least give me a chance to explain!"

"You…you think I want to hear any more of how you have pleasured other women with your Lord's Kisses?! You arrogant…you arrogant…bastard!" she spat.

"Calm down and listen to me!"

She tried to turn away, but he grabbed her other arm and pinned them both at her sides. She was taken aback by the suddenness of it and the fact that he had, once again, caught her off her guard. Why did he have to have the power to un-nerve her so easily? When she was with him she was never calm as still water or quiet as a deer or the Arya she knew at all.

"I have never kissed another woman in the way I have kissed you – either on your lips or…" he dropped his eyes to the top of her legs, "…they way I want to down there."

"Do not make things worse by lying to me Gendry Waters! You said you knew I would never want to leave your bed. Another woman told you that, didn't she?"

He ground his teeth. 'Twould hardly help his cause at the moment to tell her it was Daenerys' idea. Given her fit of rage, Arya would likely run him through and perhaps Daenerys too if she got the chance.

"'Twas not another woman. In truth I have never…" Seven Hells, this was excruciating, yet he saw no way out without simply telling her the truth. "'Twas all Jon's idea." He blurted out.

"Jon?! You and Jon planned this? This picnic? This Lord's Kiss? This bloody wooing?"

"Ah, well, the bloody wooing would be Lem and Anguy's idea."

"Lem Lemoncloak and Anguy The Archer?"

Gendry gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head. That information seemed to make her angrier still.

"So the whole of The Brotherhood has a hand in this…this…Mummer's farce?"

"Bad Company now Milady and I did not say that." He said through gritted teeth.

"I want to hear nothing more that comes out of your scheming Lord's mouth and as for your Lord's Kiss – you can shove that up your arse if there's still enough room up there once you have shoved your marriage proposal and your stupid big head up there too!"

"If you calm down I will…"

"Do not tell me what to do!" she interrupted, her voice hard and cold. "No-one has told me what to do since I was nine and you will not start now."

"Just because you haven't had anyone telling you what to do doesn't mean you haven't needed someone."

She swung herself up into the saddle and looked down at him, sneering. "I don't need anyone."

How did he salvage this mess? He thought he had her. Seven buggering hells, he could have taken her maidenhead on that blanket, she would have had to marry him and he would have saved himself all this aggravation.

Gendry did not let go of Lightning's reigns, holding fast as she tried to turn the horse around. "A wager Arya. I challenge you to a wager."

"I am not interested!" she spat, "Now let go of my horse!"

"If I return to The Red Keep first, I get to bestow the Lord Kiss upon you."

She curled her lip at him, "You are a bigger fool than you look. Did you not see how fast this horse is? Lightning and I beat that black beast of yours easily."

"You will take my wager then?"

"If you loose, you pay me twenty gold Dragons."

He did not have twenty gold Dragons, but if he did not win this wager, he would be losing something much more valuable than gold he did not have. If he let get away from him again, would he ever get her back? He could forget trying to woo her back.

"Aye, I'll take your wager."

"Then you are a fool Gendry Waters."

He bowed stiffly to her, before letting go of the reigns. She immediately turned her horse and kicked her heels to Lightning's flanks. "I shall see you and your twenty gold dragons back at The Red Keep" she shouted over her shoulder as she rode off in the direction they had come.

With a whistle to Thunder, he began gathering up the picnic things. The destrier came trotting immediately, keen to get going, having seen his new companion leave. Gendry took a look at the half eaten, half packed picnic at his feet. What was he doing? Let whatever wild animals were around enjoy it. He doubted that old kitchen maid would miss a few cups and a blanket. There was no time to waste. He took hold of Thunder's reigns and patted his old friend's nose, turning his horse's head so they could both watch Arya's and Lightning's arses recede into the distance.

"See that white mare we were chasing all morning? Well, we need to catch her now boy. You won't let me down now, will you?" Thunder gave a snort and tossed his head, as if he understood every word and was affronted that Gendry could consider the white mare beyond catching.

Lightning was faster, there was no doubt, but it had been a hard, fast ride here this morning and Ty believed Lightning had not been properly ridden in weeks. The mare would be tired and Thunder had stamina and courage beyond any other horse. Gendry was staking his future on Thunder being able to overtake Lightning and her damn mistress before they reached those red walls.

Gendry swung himself up into the saddle. He didn't even need to give the word and they were off.

**Sorry GRRM. I know you are on record as saying that Brienne's shouted word is going to be "Sword", but I think my word is better! I've got high hopes for Gendry – even if you haven't. So there!**

**And, no Lord's Kiss …yet. The chapter is too long and it's not ready, but it's hot! I won't make you wait until next Friday as I know you have already waited long enough. You will get your Lord's Kiss later on this weekend; you just need to patient a little while longer…**


	10. Chapter 10 - Thunder and Lightning

**Chapter 10**

**Thunder and Lightning**

**Twelve thousand words in a single weekend! I'm spoiling you. Better not get used to it, but I'm hoping it makes up for that week I missed.**

Gendry allowed Thunder his head. The destrier knew what to do, aye, perhaps better then Gendry did himself.

Thunder set a steady pace. Arya and Lightning had set off at a gallop, but Thunder played the wiser game. Many times he and Gendry had covered longer distances than this together. They shared an instinctive understanding, Thunder would slow to a trot when tiring and Gendry never pushed, for his horse would resume the ground covering canter soon enough, his long strides eating up the miles. Gendry was confident Arya had no such plan, otherwise he'd be going cap in hand to Jon, or Gods forbid, Aegon, looking to borrow twenty bloody gold Dragons. Aye, Arya had a high opinion of her own worth indeed.

Lightning was certainly faster, for she was already almost out of view. Gendry reckoned that, setting such a pace, Arya could sustain two or three miles at most before she would have to rest her mount. Slow and steady would win him this race.

Gendry let his mind wander, as it always did when soothed by the steady beat of Thunder's hooves, rolling like a three beat drum. Arya was as prickly as a hedgehog and each time he thought he had stroked those prickly spines of hers into submission; one wrong word was enough to send her curling into a defensive, angry ball whose prickly armour repelled his every advance. A man could only take so much rejection. They must reach an understanding soon, as Gendry doubted his wounded pride would withstand many more such assaults.

Arya was angry, nae, she was furious, although as the ground sped past under Lightning's hooves and as the wind blew through her hair, Arya found it harder to remember why she was quite so angry. Gendry had never claimed to be a maid and 'twas obvious from his first kiss that he was well practiced in the art of kissing a woman senseless. Then why did it pain her so to think of him kissing another woman as he had kissed her, with his tongue dancing in her mouth, his hands warm and possessive on her, drawing her deeper in? Why did her stomach drop away every time she thought of another woman lying beneath him, his whispering soft words against that woman's ear and putting his cock any other woman who was not her? 'Twas like a knife stabbing at her, leaving little tiny pinpricks of pain and blood time and again. Seven buggering hells. _She was jealous._ Arya Stark, who did not want or need anyone, the lone wolf, the faceless man, was sick and green with jealously.

Arya, who had long believed vengeance alone was enough to sustain her, was no longer so certain. She needed more. She wanted more. She wanted him. There could no longer be doubt about that. Her mind was decided. She would have him, but 'twould be on her terms.

Over halfway, Gendry spied what he thought was a white horse's rump in the distance. Thunder blew out a snort of confirmation, as if chiding Gendry for ever doubting it could be done. The gap was closing steadily. 'Twas obvious Lightning had run herself out, as the horse had slowed to a walk. Gendry's delight was complete when he saw Arya drop down from the saddle and begin to walk beside her horse.

He patted Thunder's neck gratefully. The wager was already won. Thunder could continue at this pace for the rest of the afternoon and into the night if need be. However, a little victory celebration was in order and he gave a kick to Thunder's flanks, sending the mighty destrier galloping to close the last distance between them. When they were near and Thunder began to slow, Gendry urged his horse on, wanting to leave Arya in no doubt of his ability to easily win this wager and claim his prize.

Lightning and Arya both stopped walking and stood silently to watch as Gendry and Thunder approached in a storm of pounding hoofs and dust. Gendry held the reigns in one hand, so he could give an extravagant flourish with his other as he hung out of the saddle and bowed to her. His grin was met by her ill tempered grimace.

Once he was well past, he wheeled Thunder around and trotted the snorting horse back, point proved.

Lightning and Arya were still walking, their heads down, well and truly beaten. He would be magnanimous in his victory and hoped she would, in turn, be gracious in defeat.

"Go on without me, Lightning needs a rest" Arya said miserably as he came alongside.

"No hard feelings," he grinned, leaning over from his high vantage point and extending his hand. She looked at it.

"Take my hand Arya."

She reluctantly held up her hand, intending to shake his. She shrieked as he pulled her up effortlessly and plopped her down in front of him. Arya put up a half hearted struggle as Thunder sidestepped, surprised by the sudden extra weight. But 'twas useless, Gendry had her firmly encircled in his arms and she already knew he was far stronger than she was. Anyway, where was she going to go? 'Twas a long way down to the ground.

She tried to sit in front of him without touching him, but Gendry hauled her back against him. "Relax. Would you rather walk?"

He was warm and solid beneath and behind her. She could feel his hot breath stir her hair and the rise and fall of his chest against her shoulder. His strong arms encircled her, holding her captive. There was no escape and she surrendered to him as she leant her head on his shoulder, listened to the beat of his heart and the slow, soothing rhythm of their horses' hooves. Despite her earlier nap on the blanket, she found her eyes closing and her head nodding as they walked. Why fight it? She was becoming used to surrendering when she was with him and let sleep claim her again.

Arya awoke with a start to see the tents of the army's camp around them. 'Twas twilight and there was no yelling of 'Baratheon' now. There were few soldiers to be seen and they seemed to be settling down for the night. Lord Baratheon nodded acknowledgements to the salutes he received from the men who noticed them pass quietly by.

"You can let me down now," she said, her voice little more than a sleepy whisper.

He kissed the top of her head. "We are nearly there Arya. I'll let you down soon enough."

She sighed. Then he would claim his Lord's Kiss and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. A wager was a wager after all. And, truth be told, she felt sleepily content in his arms and lying with him in a featherbed would hardly be the worst she had suffered as the result of losing a wager.

Ty was waiting for them at the entrance to The Red Keep. The boy held a lantern aloft and Arya could see his beaming smile looking up at them as Gendry stopped before they passed under the portcullis.

"You can get down now Arya."

"But we are nearly there!" She did not want to get down and walk to the stables; she was too content where she was.

"But if you do not get down, then you enter The Red Keep before me and then I loose our wager."

He let the reigns slide through one hand, lifting it over her head so she was no longer trapped. When she made no move to dismount, he gave her a firm push so she slid off his lap and over the side. Ty put out an arm to support her as her feet landed unsteadily on the cobblestones. Her muscles, unused to riding, had seized up and her legs felt as stiff as a new born foal's. Mercifully, Ty did not let go as she took her first wobbly step into The Red Keep.

Lord Baratheon walked Thunder on into the Bailey yard and then dismounted before striding back towards them.

"Are you alright Arya?" he asked, the concern on his face thrown into sharp relief by the flickering light cast by Ty's lantern.

"I...I am just a bit stiff." She muttered as took another few, hobbled steps towards into the yard.

"Ty, see to the horses." Gendry commanded as, with one fluid motion, he swept Arya up into his arms. Another willing surrender she thought, as she wrapped her arms gratefully around his neck. He carried her across the yard and into The Red Keep.

He did not head towards her room. He must intend them to lie in his bed she thought, as nervous butterflies began to flutter around her stomach.

"Where are we going?"

"Is there a bath in your room Arya?"

"Yes, but this is not the way to my room."

"We go to the kitchens for I am hungry and you need a bath."

"I do not!" she said haughtily. She had bathed that 'morn and was sure she did not yet smell unpleasant enough for him to demand she take a bath. He still smelled vaguely of soap from his showing off in the river, but that was not what she liked best. He smelled most wonderfully of outdoors, leather and horses and something uniquely Gendry that she was finding more and more to her liking each time they were together.

"Your muscles will not be as painful in the 'morn if you take a hot bath tonight."

He elbowed open the door to the kitchens. A dozen maids stopped what they were doing and looked up in surprise.

"I need food and hot water for a bath sent up to Lady Arya's room now!" he bellowed, causing a few of the maids to startle.

"Say thank you!" Arya hissed at him, appalled.

"Thank you." he snapped, as he turned on his heel and walked out.

"Do you not remember when we were the servants Gendry?" she chided, "how wearing it was to have orders barked at you all day?"

"I shall never forget, but 'tis a difficult line for me to tread Arya. I wish to be seen as the other, real Lords, are" he muttered.

She looked up at his stern, handsome face, seeing both Gendry Waters the boy and Lord Baratheon the man. "You are as much a Lord as any of them and better than most."

He smiled with satisfaction as she snuggled into his chest and let herself be carried to her room.

There were two crows sitting outside her rooms. One must have been asleep as he received a kick from the other and shook his head violently as they approached.

Gendry greeted the crows by name before finally setting Arya down outside her door on legs that were a good deal steadier now than they had been.

"You can sleep in your own beds tonight boys. There's no more need for you here."

"But Jon said…"

"I will be here until the 'morn and I can assure you that I will not let Lady Arya out of my sight until then." Gendry told them with a wink.

One of the crows sniggered and Arya had to stop herself from giving him a swift kick. She could have happily given Gendry one too for that wink.

The crows got up, stretched and made their way off down the corridor quite happily. Gendry had disappeared into her room. After making quite sure the crows were definitely away, Arya followed him in on protesting legs.

He was already sitting on a chair, taking his boots off. 'Twas such an act of possession. He had been here but a few minutes and already he had made himself quite at home. Those nervous butterflies re-appeared in her stomach.

"Are you not stiff?" she asked, wincing as she hobbled to the other chair.

He threw his head back and laughed.

"Aye, but not where you are Milady."

It took her a few moments before she understood what he found so amusing. Realising he was thinking on his cock made her more nervous still. She knew she was blushing. She could feel it rising up her neck, to the top of her head.

"I think I have spent so long astride Thunder that my arse had moulded itself to my saddle." He chuckled, "A hot bath and my Lord's Kiss will set you right Lady."

His lazy smile and heavy lidded eyes as he regarded her across the room, made his intentions quite clear. She shivered in fear and delight. She would have to wait a while longer for him to fulfil his promises though as they were interrupted by a hesitant knock at the door.

Gendry bellowed "Enter" before Arya could reply.

A possession of kitchen maids walked in carrying trays of food and pales of steaming hot water.

He ate as if he hadn't seen food in a month. She watched in silence for a while as he ripped meat from a roasted fowl and devoured a large chunk of warm bread. Eventually she could hold her tongue no longer.

"You may find this hard to believe my Lord, but there is more food in the kitchens. I do not think it likely you will starve, but I do think it likely you will have stomach cramps if you continue eating like that."

He laughed and held out a piece of meat to her. "I forget my manners. Are you hungry?"

She shook her head. She wanted _something_, but it wasn't food.

"'Tis an old soldier's habit. Eat now, as it may a long while until your next."

She looked at him sceptically as he finally slowed his pace and admitted, "Perhaps it is a deeper habit as I can still remember our days of starving on the run."

When she did not answer he asked gently, "Do you remember them too?"

Truly she hadn't thought of them in years. The irony was not lost on her. Years of not thinking of him at all and now she could think of little else.

She nodded hesitantly. He covered one of his hands with hers.

"'Tis all in the past and I need to remember I must behave as a Lord and not as a starving Bastard; always hungry for the scraps from another's table."

That was the second time tonight he had mentioned his uncertainty about behaving as a Lord should. It obviously weighed heavily on his mind, although Arya saw no reason for it to. She knew a dozen Lords who had done nothing other than be born to merit their titles, whereas he had earned his by his own efforts. He should consider himself _better_ than those other Lords, she thought, not beneath them.

He stood up as more maids arrived with more pails. He ordered the maids not to pour the last few into the bath. They set the pails down beside the huge tub and Gendry strode after them to the door. He ordered that no-one was to disturb him until the morning. Then he dropped the latch in place. There was no escape.

She tried to calm her hammering heart. The heated glint in his eyes as he walked slowly back towards her told her she was wise to be nervous.

He removed his shirt, tugging the edge out of his britches and pulling it up over his head in one fluid motion. It was discarded behind him as he approached. She tried not to watch, but he fascinated her. She studied his body intently as muscles moved under smooth skin and that expanse of silky black hair that she longed to stroke was revealed. He did not break his stride as he continued towards her, loosening his sword belt as he came.

She stood up, nervously running her unexpectedly clammy hands down the front of her britches. Her body pulsed with heat and a strange throbbing had begun between her legs.

He hung his sword and scabbard over a chair before moving his hands to the top of his own britches, where that thin trail of silky black hair disappeared into the unknown. She could not tear her eyes away as he grasped the ends of the laces with both hands, tugging, loosening, revealing more smooth skin and thicker, curlier hair. He paused and it was only when he laughed; a deep, satisfied sound of pure male arrogance, and asked her if she liked what she saw, that she realised she was gawking and hurriedly turned away. She needed to do something with her hands, _anything_ to stop herself reaching out and stroking that fine, black hair.

She took the few steps towards the bath and gripped the side, noticing immediately that she was gripping it so hard her knuckles were white.

Although she did not dare look directly at him, out of the corner of her eye she could see that he had discarded his boots and was now sliding his britches down, over slim hips and solid thighs, thickly covered in the same dark hair that she found so irresistible on his chest. As he stood up she saw his manhood, fearsome and erect against the hard plane of his stomach.

She had never seen a man like that before and 'twas one thing touching him through the thick cloth of his britches and quite another having him naked and expectant before her now. 'Twas too much and she needed to get away. She felt as if her head was spinning and she couldn't think straight. She needed to get away from the steam and the heat and _him._

"The bath is hardly full. I shall go and have the maids fetch more water." She muttered as she moved further away from him, around the edge of the bath.

"We have plenty water for our bath." His voice was husky, deep.

Seven hells. He had said 'our' bath. She had not considered that. Not at all.

"Surely you do not mean us to share?" she gasped, but one look at him; his eyes regarding her with that look she now recognised as _lust_ and his erect cock was enough to confirm to her that was _exactly_ what he intended. A tickle of fear danced in her stomach.

He took a step forwards, showing her all the magnificent, naked maleness of him. She took an involuntary step back.

"Come here."

"Just as there is more food in the kitchen, there is enough hot water for separate baths and I shall have mine later."

What was she doing? She wanted this. Hadn't she nearly begged him to take her this afternoon by the river? But that seemed different. It had all happened so quickly and she hadn't had time to think and now she couldn't think at all. She did not want to resist, but neither could she make herself take a step towards him. She stood, as if rooted to the spot, beside the bath.

"Come here."

"What will the maids say?"

She knew he would not take her against her will. If she said no, then he would leave. If she took that one step towards him, she would be lost.

"Come here."

No-one had ever told her she was beautiful until he had.

No-one had ever kissed her until he had.

No-one had ever touched her and made her feel as excited and yet as safe as he had. May the Gods help her.

If she was going to lie with anyone, she wanted it to be him.

She took a deep breath and took that first tentative step. He immediately closed the rest of the distance between them, taking her face gently in his hands.

"I want to see you naked" he whispered, his warm breath feathering against her cheek.

He ran his fingers slowly, softly, down the sides of her face, along her jaw and down her neck, finding the button at the top of her tunic. His hands brushed against her throat, unfastening the first button and sending shivers ricocheting all thorough her body. She didn't dare think what effect he would have as he went lower.

She looked up at him, studying his face, for to look down would have meant she would have had to look at _that _and the thought of where he intended it to go was too much. So she looked up and tried to study his face as he worked. His eyebrows were pulled together in concentration and she was not going to think on that scar…

Two buttons undone, now…three,

Those long, dark eyelashes would not have looked out of place on a beautiful girl…

Four…as his fingers brushed against the bindings she used to flatten her breasts, she was both excited and terrified.

He stopped as her secret was discovered.

He eased her tunic down over her shoulders and threw it across the floor, exposing her bindings.

"What is this?"

"They…get in the way and I…I do not like…them." She admitted, stumbling over the words in shame.

"Why would you not like part of yourself?" he asked, concern etched onto his face as he began unravelling the long piece of cloth. "They are such wondrous, beautiful parts of you." His warm hands touching her skin brought back memories of the feast, when he had stroked his fingers over the edge of her bodice. The same shivers returned now, both hot and cold at the same time. Did he really find her beautiful?

"Lift your arms for me" he murmured.

She did as he asked and he deftly unwrapped the cloth, passing it from hand to hand as layer after layer was peeled away. She had desired his touch on her breasts that night and she ached for it now. He unwound the last length and discarded it on the floor. She stood before him, naked from the waist up, watching him as he saw her unfettered breasts for the first time; breasts that she had wished time and again she never had. She fought the urge to bring her hands up and cover herself, wishing she had not seen herself in Sansa's mirror, for she knew now how the red welts from the bindings looked. Like scars.

"What have you done to yourself Arya?" he asked softly.

He gently placed a hand on each breast and rubbed his fingers over the marks left by the bindings. She gasped at the intensity of this new sensation, as blood returned to her skin and his hands, rough themselves, but with such a tender touch, cupped her breasts and stroked. When his thumbs rubbed over her teats, she could feel the tips harden and grow under his touch. He stared, as if transfixed, as his thumbs caressed them again and again. Did he truly like what he saw?

"How can you say you do not like what will nourish our babes, if the Gods will it?" He whispered, dipping his head down to her breast.

She had no time to think on what he said about Gods and babes as he had dropped down onto his knees and his tongue was sweeping slowly over one sensitive, swollen teat, before taking it into his mouth and sucking on it like a new born babe. A soft little cry came from the back of her throat. She swallowed hard. How had she made that noise without knowing? _Gods be good_. She had no idea it could feel like this.

He had her breasts cradled in his hands and continued to caress them, licking and sucking first one teat, then the other, sending bolts of lightning from there down to that aching, needy place between her legs. She touched his hair, warily at first, fighting the conflicting urges to push him away and press him tighter against her. Then he took one teat between his teeth and tugged gently. _Seven hells_. Her fingers were in his hair, twisting, pulling him towards her, arching her back, wanting more.

But he denied her, lifting his mouth from her.

"Promise me you will not bind yourself again Arya," he asked, his eyes dark and serious, his voice husky with desire.

She stared down at him, her skin covered in goosebumps, although the air in the room was positively hot and humid. If she did as he asked, she would need to wear smallclothes like Sansa, her men's shirts would no longer fit, everyone would know her for a woman. She shook her head.

"'Tis not right Arya. What are you hiding from?"

She remembered Tyrion's comments about her "armour" as the silence grew between them.

"What are you afraid of?" he persisted, looking up at her with those fathomless blue eyes of his.

"Nothing."

"Then promise me."

"I promise…while I am here," she said in a voice just above a whisper.

Gendry narrowed his eyes and looked at her sceptically, but eventually nodded a brief acceptance. He rose from his knees, his hands immediately finding the laces of her britches as he planted a hard kiss on her lips.

There was no doubting his intentions now. He intended to take her and she would need to tell him soon if she expected him to stop. The long hardness of his manhood was pressing against her hip and she could feel the heat of him through her britches.

As if reading her mind and anticipating her fears, he murmured, "Trust me Arya. I shall pleasure you and I shall not take you if you do not wish it."

Oh, but she did wish it. The thought of him leaving her like this, aching and wanting was worse than the fear of what he intended. She wanted _more_. She could not describe these feelings he had awoken, but she wanted more of him, on her, around her, inside her. He turned her gently, so that he was behind her, sliding his hands down from her teats, over the curve of her breasts, her waist, to the laces of her britches. He made short work of them, sliding his hands, warm and insistent over her hips and, shockingly, tugging her small clothes down with her britches.

She gasped with surprise. She was suddenly naked, or at least, naked where it mattered and his manhood was hot and hard and insistent against the curve of her back.

"Tell me to stop and I will."

She did not speak.

"Remove your boots" he ordered, gently but firmly.

As if in a dream, she did what she was told, only realising when she bent over that she was presenting her bare bottom to him. He had never let go of her hips and she felt his grip tighten and heard his involuntary intake of breath as he saw what no man had seen before. Did this sight please him also?

His strong hands steadied her as she wobbled on first one leg and then the other, disposing of her boots and clothes.

As she straightened up, he pulled her to him, so her back was tight against his chest and the back of her legs against his solid thighs. He was so hard and warm and his manhood was trapped between them.

He murmured only one word - "beautiful" as he encircled her in his arms.

Gendry had to concentrate on the here and now in order to believe this was really happening; the girl of his dreams was naked in his arms and he savoured the feeling of her body against his, still tense and nervous, but reacting to his touch. How anyone could mistake her for a boy still was beyond him. Her breasts were soft and full in his hands and there was a wonderful curve from her slim waist to her hip. He pulled her tighter to him, desperate for some friction on his cock. She surprised him by leaning back against him and he gratefully accepted her weight.

He moved one hand from her waist, stroking over her stomach and lower still, to the mass of soft curls at the top of her legs. She trembled against him as he spread his fingers wide and touched the curls, thrilling as he discovered they were wet with her desire for him. Without thinking, he arched his body against hers, rubbing his straining cock against her bottom and losing himself in the explosion of pleasure even that contact provided.

He had to remind himself there was a long way to go if he was going to pleasure her first as he had planned. He took a deep breath, trying to control his rampaging body. He had to slow things right down or he would embarrass himself like a green boy.

"Our bath grows cold" he murmured, stepping away from her with a great deal of effort of will, lifting his long legs over the side of the bath and standing in the hot water. He extended his hand to her and she hesitated before taking it. She was the most delightful shade of pink he had ever seen. It seemed to extend all the way from her rosy teats, up that graceful neck, to the top of her head.

He must have smiled without realising, as she asked "Does something amuse you my Lord?" in a hushed, sombre voice.

He knew form the 'my Lord' that she wasn't happy and he wanted, no, he _needed_ her to enjoy this. "I am just thinking that you are so very beautiful and I am the luckiest man alive." He replied sincerely, meaning every word of it. She blushed even more furiously, but still she stepped into the tub with him, and made to sit down at the far end.

That would not do! He wouldn't let go of her hand, shaking his head. "I had thought we might sit together Arya."

Without waiting for her answer, he eased himself into the water at the nearest end, never letting go of her hand and opening his arms and his knees for her. He saw her glance warily at his cock, bobbing in the water, but still she didn't refuse and he guided her to sit down with her back to him.

Water sloshed all over the stone floor as she did, not that either of them cared, being too wrapped up in the newness and excitement of it all.

Gendry braced his arms on the sides of the tub and shifted to accommodate her between his legs. She slowly sat down. The sensation was exquisite and, if he looked over her shoulder, he could see her lovely breasts just floating at the top of the water, the pink teats soft and sweet.

Again, she leant against him, and he was pleased to feel her relax. It was a sure sign she was growing in confidence and if he was tender and did not rush her, he would make this as enjoyable an experience for her as he could. At least he could make sure her memories of her first time would not be tainted by pain or rushed for fear of being discovered as they might have been by the river. Nae, he was glad he had waited to bestow his Lord's Kiss.

There was soap at the side of the bath and he took it and rubbed it in his hands until they were coated in thick suds and then he began. He started at her neck, stoking and soaping and kissing each part of her as it was cleaned and rinsed; along her shoulders, her back, he breasts. The contented little noises she was making told him he was pleasuring her already and there was more, aye much more to come.

He began again at her knees, stroking and soaping up this time, thighs, hips, stomach, then down again through the soft hair, slipping his hands between her legs, parting her, seeking that little nub of pleasure. As his fingers went round and round and she moaned and moaned again he whispered in her ear, "How does this feel?"

"Oh…I…oh" _What had he asked?_ She could not concentrate on anything other than what he was doing with his hand. Tension was building inside her, she could feel it, winding and winding. She could feel it in him too, in the pulsing of his cock behind her, in the tightness of his muscles, in the heart of his skin. She pressed herself against his hand, wanting more from him.

"Stand up Arya."

"_What? Now? Why?_" He had stopped. Why had he stopped when she was so close? "Must you stop?"

"'Tis time for The Lord's Kiss."

Her limbs felt weak and limp. She felt dizzy, with need and the heat and with knowing what he intended to do next. This was not her. Where was her strength, her control? He had robbed her of it all. Robbed her? Nae, she had given it to him willingly and she intended to surrender yet more before the night was up. Resistance was futile. She had already lost the battle when she had let him into her room, when she had let him undressed her, when she had stepped into that bath with him and he knew it.

Gendry helped her up and out of the bath and dried her with ruthless efficiency. He was not slow and soft and gentle now. Every move had purpose, serious intent and she was lying on the bed, staring up at him as he kneeled above her, before she had time to gather her shredded, scattered thoughts.

He took a pillow from the top of the bed and eased it under her hips, smiling as she helped, lifting up and letting her knees fall apart for him, letting him see how slick and ready she was for him. Gods be good, she wanted this as much as he did.

Kissing the soft skin of her stomach, he trailed kisses down and down further, cradling her hips in his hands, remembering all Jon's advice, kissing her there, between her legs, grinning as she shrieked. She tried to buck, but he held her firm. Her hands were on his shoulders but she had no will to push him away. He used his tongue on her, circling, teasing, flicking and soon her hands dropped to the covers beneath her, griping handfuls of them in her fists as he bestowed his Lord's Kiss upon her.

She began to tremble, then shake as her toes curled and her head fell back. She cried out his name before her body exploded with wave after wave of pleasure.

He could still feel the stray shudders of pleasure dancing through her as he pulled away. He had to, for in truth, he could wait no longer.

She felt him move away and opened her eyes. Gendry stood before her in all his magnificence, his cock standing proud, waiting and she instinctively knew what he wanted. She pushed her self up, reaching out and carefully touching it, tracing the ridge of its head, running her fingertip over the drop of fluid oozing from the tip. He drew in a sharp breath and placed his hand firmly over hers, wrapping his fingers around hers, so she had no choice but to move her hand forward and back and again, as he showed her what he wanted. She had never touched anything like it before. It was velvet soft and hard as steel and she knew now why she was wet between her legs; she was wet for him, for this and she was ready.

"I want you inside me now."

"Are you sure Arya? For this is a serious choice we make here." His voice was a harsh whisper.

"I am sure."

He lay down beside her, letting his hand slide between her legs, slowly spreading the wetness from her and from his kisses between every fold, reawakening the fire that had barely subsided. Then he moved between her legs and she tensed, knowing what was coming, knowing it would hurt but wanting him too badly to care. She felt the tip of his cock against her entrance. She was ready, why did he wait? She was trembling with need for him and she gripped his buttocks, trying to draw him in to her, to fill this aching need she had for him.

"Please now Gendry," she urged.

Still he delayed. "We must be married before the next moon Arya, for I will not risk fathering a bastard."

She screwed her eyes shut and made an indecipherable sound.

"Say you will marry me Arya."

Why did he have to ask her now?

"I will drink moon tea. There is no need for you to wed me."

"I will not take your maidenhead without your promise."

"Then do not ask me for I will not give it."

She lifted her hips to him, pleading, but even after The Lord's Kiss and in the heat of her passion; she would not give him what he wanted most.

His need for her was unbearable, pulsing through every vein in his body. He had been hard for her since he had laid eyes on her in the training yard and a man could only take so much. He closed his eyes and lifted away from her, letting his cock slide over her stomach before he moved against her again and again spilling his seed on her belly as she gripped his buttocks murmuring "I cannot, I cannot" over and over.

As soon as he was finished, he rolled away and onto his back. He lay there for a few moments, devastated, trying to work out what to do next. Why would she not give in and take him as her husband? He felt humiliated, bereft, as if someone had just cut his heart from his chest.

He stood up, unable to look at her, aching with hurt and disappointment. As he pulled on his britches and as she never said a word, the space where his heart had been filled with ice. He pulled on his boots and reached for his shirt, finally standing up to look at her. She had pulled the cover over herself and was staring at him with cold, grey eyes.

Letting her hear the harsh chill in his words, he said "I have made my position clear to you from the beginning Arya. I want a wife, a home and children. If you do not want the same, then there can be nothing between us."

"I do not want the same."

"Then I shall bid you farewell." He ground out through clenched teeth.

Gendry picked up his sword and scabbard from the chair, buckling his belt as he walked to the door.

He left her there and he did not look back.

**This one owes a lot to Brazilian Guy. When I wanted it all, he made me wait.**

**Until next Friday…**


End file.
